


Three Houses Bonus-Supports and Oneshots!

by ThirthFloor



Series: Fire Emblem Oneshots! [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Awkwardness, Cute, Everyone Needs A Hug, Ferdinand von Aegir is Ferdinand von Aegir, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Garreg Mach Monastery (Fire Emblem), Gentle Kissing, Hubert is kinda soft??, I add tags as I update chapters so you don't come looking for something that hasn't been posted yet, M/M, More Sylvix!, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sickfic, love y'all, oneshots, open fic so slow updates, please request i need inspiration, requests open
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22744438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirthFloor/pseuds/ThirthFloor
Summary: There was always more to the students and soldiers from Garreg Mach than was seen from the outside. There were always quiet moments, hidden affections, times to laugh and times to cry. There were secrets shared and memories treasured. Expanding on Support Conversations and Endings in a collection of Oneshots, enjoy!
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro, Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: Fire Emblem Oneshots! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635394
Comments: 59
Kudos: 143





	1. Sylvain X Felix: The Training Grounds

**Author's Note:**

> Sylvain finds Felix training at midnight and worries why he is still up.

It was late. The monastery was quiet, the bells just having struck to signal that midnight had come. Sylvain listened to his own footsteps, quiet against the stone and echoing off the even greater stone walls. He sighed quietly; the date had gone well, but he didn’t intend to see the girl again.

He rounded the corner to get to the dorms, hands in his pockets, when the soft sound of his footsteps was met with something else. Sylvain stopped to listen.

Someone was at the training grounds. At this hour? He frowned, curious… and yet he already knew who it likely was. Sylvain turned right instead, and quietly headed to see what his friend was up to.

Felix’s back was turned to him when Sylvain entered the grounds. The source of the noise was the training sword colliding with the stuffed and wooden sides of the training dummy, Felix’s movements precise and powerful as always. But they were restless. And Felix’s hair was messy; he was so focused that he didn’t notice his hair slowly falling loose from the hair tie. His strong shoulders were tense, despite the force he put behind his strikes.

Sylvain, as aloof as he acted, knew when his friends were acting different. His voice came as a startling break of the night’s quiet when he spoke. “Felix… what are you still doing up?”

Felix whirled around and instinctively thrust his sword forward. Sylvain was reminded of how impressed he was with Felix’s skill at times, when the wooden blade stopped just a hair’s breadth before hitting his chest. Sylvain’s hands went up in surrender, but he didn’t move. Felix had beaten him up plenty of times before, so Sylvain was no longer afraid of the coming barrage.

His amber eyes looked up through the messy strands of black hair that had fallen in his face. “What are you doing here?” Felix grunted out, annoyed. His tone was sharper than usual.

“Easy there…” Sylvain took a step back when Felix didn’t lower the training sword. He laughed softly, an attempt to ease the tension. “Just checking on a friend.” At no response again, his hands dropped, along with his smile. “Seriously though… what are you doing up here at midnight? Don’t you already train from four to six in the morning or something?”

Felix scoffed and finally the sword came to rest at his side. “Oh, you know. Hunting demonic beasts.” He huffed at his own sarcasm. “Training, obviously. I’d ask you the same thing, but I already know the answer and don’t care.”

Sylvain blushed sheepishly and scratched the back of his head, but that wasn’t the point. “Yeah, yeah okay. Come on, I know that face… what happened?”

He only gave an eyeroll and turned around, reaching up to fix his hair. “I’ve just been in a bad mood, is that a problem?”

Sylvain couldn’t help but smile just slightly at Felix’s ever-persistent sour attitude. “Well, there’s normal bad mood Felix, and then there’s bad mood-bad mood Felix… And the second one is usually really scary, or goes really badly. Or both. Remember that time that that rich merchant family came to visit your father, and the older girl cut your ponytail off? What were we, ten and seven years old…? You got so angry that you punched her and broke her nose… After your dad grounded you, you went into a training fit. He sent me to check on you, and then you punched me too… That’s the basis I lay for your attitude. And I’m getting a feeling that leans more towards that.”

Felix growled and turned to face him. “Keep talking and I might punch you again.” He glared at Sylvain, but soon his gaze dropped to the ground, and he toed the stone with his boot. He mumbled out, “I haven’t been sleeping well, okay? Why do you care so much?”

Sylvain frowned just slightly. “Well, first I just wanted to check on my best friend.” Felix tched, and Sylvain continued. “But now I’m worried. Have you tried seeing Manuela? Or is it… nightmares or something?”

Once again, Felix glared up at him. There was less heat in his eyes, though. “I don’t want to talk about it. Quit prying, and go away.”

“Alright,” Sylvain sighed. “I’ll leave. But either you’re coming back with me to the dorms, or I’ll train with you for fifteen more minutes to tire you out. Then you have to come back. Which will it be?”

Hardly before he even finished, Felix was pushing a training lance into Sylvain’s hand. He stepped back and got in a fighting stance, his eyes narrowed. “I doubt you’ll tire me out. But fine, I’ll play along.”

Sylvain looked down at the lance and smirked, going over to the rack and exchanging it for an axe. “I’ve actually been working on something. You know all of my lance technique, so let’s switch things up a bit.”

Felix raised a brow. “Well, it won’t change much.” He charged forward before Sylvain could react, the wooden blade of the sword colliding with the axe handle with a loud clack.

Sylvain gritted his teeth, aware that Felix would always possess some level of physical strength higher than his own. He moved the axe so the sword blade got caught in the crook between the blade and the handle, and using his height to his advantage, twisted it up and ducked under their arms to get out of the weapon lock. He jumped back a few steps and got in a defensive position.

Felix stood his ground and turned quickly, running a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes before aiming a few quick strikes to Sylvain’s stomach. Sylvain managed to hop back and dodge some of them, but the last two thudded against his hip, causing him to hiss at the dull pain.

On Felix’s next strike, he parried with the axe blade, turning it in his hands to knock the blow off target, then switching his grip on the handle, he managed to land a surprising hit to Felix’s shoulder with the butt of the handle. For a second, Sylvain’s expression shifted to one of concern, fearing that he’d hit too hard.

Felix staggered back, surprised. But then he rolled his shoulder, grit his teeth and swung his sword quickly at Sylvain, clearly riled up. He continued to make lightning-fast strikes, and while not all of them hit Sylvain, he was finally backed against the wall.

Felix stopped and held the wooden blade up to Sylvain’s neck, glowering at him. “Give up?”

“That depends, will you go to bed now?” Sylvain smiled playfully as he regained his breath, looping the axe around Felix’s back and holding both sides of the handle, so that he was caged against him.

Felix blew a strand of hair out of his face, cheeks red from what was likely the exertion from sparring. Of course. He narrowed his eyes and huffed bitterly, “You’d have to carry me. Or better yet, drag me.” He tightened his grip on the sword.

Sylvain grinned. “Enough said.” Unafraid to move against the wooden blade, he tossed the axe aside and moved, turning and looping his hands under Felix’s knees and behind his back. Sylvain lifted him with ease.

Felix sputtered, dropping the sword and going red in the face. “I-I didn’t mean that literally! I prefer you drag me!” He struggled against him, but looked down and seemed to decide not to fall and potentially land on a wrist or elbow wrong, and soon his efforts grew useless. “Let me go, you muscle-brained… ugh!” He cut himself off and crossed his arms, his cheeks now an embarrassed but adorable shade of crimson.

Sylvain couldn’t help but feel his heart warm at how small and mad he looked, and tried to ignore the flare of his childhood crush returning. “Sorry, guess I was too muscle-brained to see through your sarcasm.” He started walking. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

Felix was silent, sending his meanest and most irritated glare at Sylvain the whole way back. Still, he did not continue to complain.

When they got back to Felix’s room, Sylvain set him down gently. His hand lingered reluctantly on the small of his back just long enough to be noticeable.

“You know…” Sylvain hesitated. He sighed. “I wish you would confide in me when things bother you. You used to when we were kids, and then… Well, the point is, I’ll never see you as weak.” He caught Felix’s eyes. “I know you’re afraid of that. But you’ll always be so strong in my eyes.”

“Sylvain…” Felix’s tone was tired and warning.

“I’m not done.” Sylvain snapped slightly, wanting to finish what he was going to say. “The point is, sometimes asking for help or telling the truth is the toughest and bravest thing you can do. It’s important to me that you know that.”

“Like you’re one to always tell the truth.” Felix scoffed, then fell oddly silent as he pondered the words. He opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head, unbuttoning his vest to get ready for bed. “Maybe some other time. But not now.” He looked up at Sylvain. “Give me some time, yeah?”

Sylvain smiled softly. It was an honest, caring smile. His real smile. It was infinitely more handsome than any charming grin he flashed at the town girls. “I’ll wait as long as you’d like, if it means you trust me.” He ruffled Felix’s hair affectionately, messing up the bun, before reaching back and taking out the hair tie. He marveled silently at how soft Felix’s hair was, how it fell around his shoulders in messy but gentle waves. “Now, get some rest, yeah?”

Felix went slightly red, but nodded all the same, shoving him almost gently towards the door. “C’mon, I need some privacy. You’re not watching me change the rest of the way.”

Sylvain chuckled and winked. “Now what made you think of that all of a sudden?” He grinned and stepped out, closing the door quietly behind him. Before the door shut completely though, Sylvain changed his mind and poked his head back in. “Sleep well, okay? And… if you’re having trouble, I’m just two doors down.” He smiled softly. “Goodnight.”

“Just go already,” Felix huffed. Although the faintest of smiles tugged at his lips.

“Alright, I am.” Sylvain closed the door. He sighed quietly, waiting only a moment, just a lingering hope that Felix would say something. Would ask for him to wait. But at nothing, Sylvain turned and left for his room.

Felix gave another eye roll once Sylvain had properly shut the door. Then, he hesitantly brought a hand to his cheek, feeling his skin burning against his fingertips. He looked at the mirror, seeing his cheeks were still a shade of pink, detectable only to himself. He shook his head and mumbled. “Idiot.”

And yet, when Felix finally fell asleep that night, his dreams were not the plaguing nightmares that he had tried to grow accustomed to. Tonight, he dreamed of fiery red hair, sunset eyes, and a smile that made the coming morning seem worth it all.


	2. Ashe X Dedue: The Restaurant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Timeskip ending with Ashe and Dedue. Dedue comforts Ashe after a stressful, busy day at the restaurant.

“Welcome! Please take a seat, and I’ll be with you in a moment!” Ashe called to the four men who just walked through the door. He quickly finished wiping down the round table he had been attending to, balancing dishes on one hand as he did so. Tossing the light blue cleaning towel over his shoulder, Ashe veered through the doorway into the kitchen, just barely managing to dump the plates in the sink before they could topple onto the floor. The clattering of the ceramic always sent a quick twitch of anxiety through him as he wondered how many of the dishes had actually survived their clash into the sink, but he had no time to check or ponder this.

Ashe touched the towel to his forehead, onto which little beads of sweat had found their way from his hairline. He took a moment to breathe, glancing out the doorway anxiously at the small seating space of the restaurant, now crowded with knights and townspeople alike. The four men from earlier had found their way to the only open table, the one that Ashe himself had just cleared and cleaned.

This was the busiest the restaurant had been in… well, _ever_ , Ashe was shocked to realize. Only open four months yet, it hadn’t been challenging to get customers, the townspeople being drawn to the comforting aromas often drifting from the chimney or through the open windows. Or they had been guided in by the natural cosy warmth of the small building versus the brisk chill of Faerghus weather. But there had never been a day that Ashe was turning over tables faster than he thought he could, having hardly a moment to introduce himself to the customers before having to call out a “Be with you in a moment!” or a “Thank you for coming!”. It was exhilarating, and exhausting. Ashe’s feet ached and there was a throbbing soreness at the base of his neck and between his shoulders. This was his dream, and yet the stress and the rush were beginning to sow the seeds of frustration.

Taking a moment to crack his back, Ashe straightened his shirt, tugging it down so it wouldn’t bunch around his apron, and he threw the towel into a growing pile of dirty cloths, grabbing a fresh one and a few menus, printed on parchment and fastened by small metal stubs to thin but polished slabs of wood. He put on his best smile, reminding himself of how happy this truly made him at the end of every day, and he went out to greet the knights. “Hello! So sorry for the wait, it’s awfully busy today…”

~

Ashe was not happy at the end of the day. Satisfied, maybe. Exhausted, absolutely. The candlelit lamps flickered beside him as he washed the last of the what was probably hundreds of dishes that had been awaiting him in the sink. His shoulders ached and his neck almost felt cold due to soreness. When the last cup went on the drying rack, Ashe pulled the plug to let the water drain out of the sink and watched it spiral, soap spuds meandering into the darkness of the drain itself.

He startled, broken out of his daze when Dedue entered the small back room, finally emerging from cleaning up the kitchen himself. He looked slightly weary, although it was hidden well by his usual stoic features. They made eye contact, cold but gentle blue meeting tired mint green. Dedue walked quietly over to Ashe.

“How are you feeling?” It was a simple question, but Ashe had grown to recognize the traces of emotion in Dedue’s words. This time, he was concerned.

Ashe’s eyebrow twitched as he fought a scowl, but his eyes narrowed to betray his displeasure. “Terrible, if I’m being honest.”

Dedue raised a brow subtly. “It was a good turnout today, Ashe. It would do us well to get some rest and be proud of it.”

“And do it all again tomorrow,” Ashe grumbled. He rubbed his eyes.

Dedue maintained his gaze on Ashe’s movements, the hidden concern never leaving his expression. “Are you not happy with our work?”

“No, it’s not that,” the smaller man huffed. “I’m just tired. Just… I think I just need some rest. It’s a lot of work and I’m sore, that’s all.” He untied his apron and hung it on the hook by the door. “I’m going up.”

“Ashe, please wait.” Dedue’s voice was always so comforting, low and steady. But right now, it only infuriated his partner.

“I want _rest_ , Dedue. I’m tired, and it’s only the middle of the week. I’m going to wash up, change, and _sleep_. Please don’t try and stop me again.”

Dedue’s expression softened only slightly, registering shock. “I am sorry.” He glanced away with that guilty look at Ashe hated, if only because he damned whatever caused it. So, in this case, himself.

Ashe frowned, feeling sorry, and turned back to face Dedue fully. “No, that was… that was wrong of me.” The silence hung heavy for a moment, before Ashe reached up into one of the cupboards above the counter, taking out a glass bottle with a warm, auburn liquor inside. He walked past Dedue and grabbed two glasses, turning back to face him. “I know neither of us are much for drink, but…” He raised the bottle slightly. “It _was_ a good day today. Come on, Dedue.”

Dedue, still with a refined look of surprise on his face, this time comforted, followed Ashe into the main dining area and sat at one of the round centre tables. Ashe uncorked the bottle and poured them both a half-glass of the drink. He pushed one towards Dedue and took a drink of his own, his face scrunching adorably for a moment.

“I’ll never get used to it, but it feels appropriate,” Ashe commented, setting his glass back down on the table.

Dedue stared into his own glass thoughtfully for a moment before taking a tentative drink himself. His lips twitched downwards in a frown as the slightly bitter taste met his tongue, but Dedue did not mind the flavour. He took another drink before setting his own glass down, fixing his gaze on Ashe. Once again, icy blue met the cosiest green.

Silence followed, before Dedue posed a question. “Have you considered hiring help?” He was not surprised, albeit taken aback when Ashe scowled.

“No. I don’t want to hire help.”

“Why not?” Dedue inquired, his tone patient, but his brows furrowed.

Ashe hesitated. His eyes shifted to the tabletop, then down to the floor, only faintly lit by the lantern hanging above the tables in the darkly wooden room. There were seventeen lanterns in the room, one above each table, with eleven tables against the walls and six rounded tabletops in the middle of the room. The two currently sat across from each other at the round table closest to the doors to the backroom, which would lead to another set of doors into the kitchen, adjacent to the storage room. The moonlight only faintly crested the dark, rich wood of the tables next to the windows.

It was a few moments before Ashe continued his thought. “This is our dream, Dedue. _Ours_. If we hire others… they wouldn’t understand. It wouldn’t be as special, and it wouldn’t just be us anymore… We can do it. I know today was rough, but it was just the first. I… don’t look at me like that. We fought a war. I can handle waiting tables.” Ashe frowned as he took another sip of his drink. Dedue did not like seeing him frown. “I’ll get used to it. This is our restaurant, our time and effort, our memories going into this work… It’s special to me, Dedue.”

Dedue nodded. “I see.” He paused again before pressing another question. Ashe was the only person graced to hear as many of his thoughts as he shared. But then, over time, Ashe had grown not only to hear his thoughts, but to _be_ his thoughts. “Are you happy, then?”

Ashe tilted his head, silver hair falling untucked from his ear and shimmering in the golden glow of the lamplight. It had grown a little since the end of the war, and now Ashe kept it at a comfortable length by his chin. “I already told you, Dedue. I am happy. This is our dream.”

“When I met you, your dream was to be a knight. Do you not regret giving that up?”

To Dedue’s pleasant surprise, Ashe laughed. It blossomed a warm feeling in his chest, as did his smile and his voice, and the way his eyes lit up every time he spoke, with every gesture he made. “After those five years, I couldn’t have been happier to put my bow down, Dedue.” His eyes glinted as he gazed up at the man across from him. “And yet, I find it funny that you ask that. Weren’t you going to serve Dimitri for the duration of your life?”

Prickles of heat flushed Dedue’s cheeks, and he looked down into his glass. “I was.”

“See? It just worked out differently. That doesn’t mean I regret my decision. This restaurant, this dream… it _became_ my decision, Dedue. This is our dream.” Ashe reached across the table. Dedue lifted his hand from his lap to the tabletop to meet it. For a moment, he marvelled at Ashe’s delicate hands, as he often did when holding them in his own.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier,” Ashe continued, his voice soft. “It’ll get easier, and you were right. We should be proud of the work we did. Not only today, but every day leading up to this point. We made this future for ourselves, Dedue. I’m so proud of that.” He chuckled softly. “No heroic legends will be written about us, but so what? We have our own story right here in front of us.” He squeezed Dedue’s hand gently.

Dedue met his eyes. Clear blue met clear green. “Yes. Our story.”

Ashe smiled fondly. Dedue mirrored his smile, softer and more reserved, but Ashe’s heart soared all the same. “Although, I believe the next chapter of our story involves getting some sleep before tomorrow. It might be busier than today. But who knows? That’s the wonder of reading a new book.”

Dedue stood, still holding Ashe’s hand in his own. “You are right. It _is_ wondrous.”

The candles in the lanterns flickered, dancing to illuminate the lovers as their eyes met once again, each gaze longer than the last. Each gaze wrote new paragraphs, scribing their story one day, one hour, one moment at a time. Every moment was precious, stunning, and beautiful. The story they wrote together, the life they built with one another, was more than any novel that could be recorded. Beyond words, the two gazed at one another in silence, put away their glasses in silence, and enveloped in the stillness of the night, rested for their coming day. Their new chapter awaited its heroes.


	3. M!Byleth X Claude: The Goddess Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude finds his professor after the dance, and Byleth offers for his house leader to join him for a wish at the Goddess Tower.

“So, Teach, how does it feel to be the favourite professor?” Claude’s smooth, playful voice startled Byleth, only because they were an almost exact echo of Sothis’ words from moments ago. He had been deep in his thoughts, almost able to visualize the blackened room with the ancient stone throne, but the voice brought him all back to reality in an instant, the visions and Sothis’ speech fading from his senses.

The teal-haired professor turned to face his young house leader, seeing his smile warm in the brisk night air, and his verdant green eyes glinting against the moonlight. There were times that Byleth couldn’t help but be perplexed at Claude’s vibrance; how he managed to exude so much energy, and bear so many emotions with even the slightest movements; every lift of an eyebrow or shift in posture, every knowing glance and twitch of a smile read a different sentiment. All of this was conveyed, on display for the world to see, and yet Byleth was saddened once again to see the shallowness of the expression.

“I’m hardly the favourite,” Byleth responded humbly, his voice sounding flat and dry to his own ears after Claude’s lilting tone. The wind could have defeated his voice in personality, swirling about them and moving their clothing and hair in lazy swings.

Claude only laughed in response, disbelief stirred into the good-natured sound. “Come on, Teach, you and I both know that’s nonsense. Heck, you know I don’t dance with just anyone!”

“You danced with everyone.”

“For fun, yes,” Claude rolled his eyes to admit. “But, I…well, I was surprised that you accepted my invitation.” He grinned, “Dancing with you was a lot more fun than those silly skips and hops that the other nobles do sometimes. Did you see how annoyed Lorenz was when you bumped into him?”

Byleth looked down, feeling a little embarrassed at the memory, but fond of it all the same. “I did. I haven’t had many opportunities to dance in the past.”

Claude nodded, folding his hands behind his head. “But you must have learned something somewhere. I’m awful at dancing, so you can’t have picked it up from me.” The playful smirk on his face tested Byleth’s mood, prodding for the level of teasing he would take.

“You’re not awful,” Byleth quickly interjected. There was a quiet pause, in which the professor began to feel uncomfortable that he had spoken out of turn. “My father taught me some when I was young. But after a while it didn’t seem necessary.”

“Of course, of course,” Claude sympathized, walking over to stand beside his favourite professor. Despite being only a few feet closer, Byleth felt warmer in the brisk night air. “Still, you must be exhausted after all that. What were you thinking about out here? I’d have thought you’d gone to bed.”

Byleth gazed up at the sky, the silvery moonlight making his skin shine a beautiful, pale hue. He was not sure how to answer the question, or how he wanted to answer if he could. With yet to respond, he shifted his gaze back to Claude, who was waiting patiently for his words. Claude’s expression seemed… troubled. For a second, he seemed confused, almost worried. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were soft, the usually striking emerald melted to a deep olive as he watched his professor. His lip was caught between his teeth uncertainly, and he seemed as if on the edge of a statement or a thought. All of this vanished the moment that Byleth turned his eyes towards him, but the split-second glance had been enough to make his heart ache with curiosity.

“I… was thinking of going to the Goddess Tower,” Byleth proposed gently, prodding for Claude’s reaction.

Claude seemed drawn in. His eyebrows raised slightly in scepticism, making his sparkling eyes seem even more stunning, wide and wise, but still flaked with the beauty of youth in the moonlight. “Why’s that? You believe the rumours?”

“Not so much,” Byleth smirked. “I was going to see if anyone were waiting for me. I’d be interested to see which students consider me more than the favourite.”

With a sideways glance, Byleth was once again perplexed by the house leader. He felt his air drawn from his lungs as those eyes left his own, too soon. Claude averted his gaze to the ground, then dragged his eyes up the stone walls to look at the night sky. He was obviously stalling for words, and Byleth was disappointed at the schemer’s transparency. He had come to enjoy figuring Claude out, despite the frustration and worry that came hand-in-hand with the pleasing challenge. He recognized that Claude felt too deep and thought too long, and Byleth ached to reach out to him. He longed for Claude’s trust, not only as a professor or an ally, but as something more…

 _A friend,_ he decided. He wanted Claude to trust him, to share with him his worries and his desires, to talk of his ambitions and shine a light on the dark mysteries awaiting him in his future. Byleth was unsettled at the idea of Claude leaving to change the world without him. He did not underestimate the young man’s abilities, but he wanted to share in the journey. He wanted nothing more than to see the new dawn that Claude would mention briefly, passionately and poetically, in quiet moments like this.

But now, with one glance, Claude had drawn Byleth in even further to his eyes, to the unknowns that lie behind them. Why did he deter his gaze like that? What was he hiding enough to keep it silent, but in such an unguarded and vulnerable matter? As if he wanted the world to look away, but could not resist capturing the professor in waves of forest green glances and words like wine. The tenderness felt meant for him, as if the doors were unlocked, and only waiting to be opened. Byleth’s mind churned with questions, ones he knew not to ask and others he let die on his often-silent tongue.

Instead, he uttered a delicate proposition. “Would you like to accompany me?”

Claude hesitated, then grinned. “Sure thing, Teach. I’d be honoured.” Byleth’s lips twitched up in a semblance of a smile, as if his own gesture would prod Claude’s beam to reach his eyes. The gesture dropped slowly when he saw that it did not.

“Come, then.” Byleth turned and began walking to the cathedral, his cloak swirling about him and rustling softly in the evening breeze. Claude followed, falling into step beside him, his hands folded behind his back and a slight skip in his gait. Byleth turned his head and was fixated by the little braid in Claude’s hair, bouncing playfully with each eager step. Despite the reluctance in his gestures, the strange behaviour from earlier, Claude still found it in himself to be joyful while spending a night with his professor. Byleth’s attention was seized, his thoughts concentrated only on deciphering the young man beside him.

Claude caught the glance and grinned, a mysterious glint in his perceptive eyes. “What are you looking at, Teach?”

“You.” Byleth responded flatly. He felt that he should look away to alleviate the awkward silence that followed the blunt confession, but his heart sparked at the immediate reaction Claude seemed to have. His eyes softened and his smile died on his lips, but was delightfully replaced with the smaller, gentler features of surprise. Byleth smirked slightly to himself and looked back ahead, satisfied with the theory that he even saw a pink tint on his cheeks.

Claude cleared his throat after a few more moments of silence. “You never answered my question earlier. Do you believe that stuff about the Goddess Tower?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to.” Byleth mused. “If I get a wish granted, that would be nice. And if not, I’m no worse off.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Claude mumbled, looking down at his feet while they walked. “But getting a wish granted… that would mean that even more of it is true, then, wouldn’t it?”

“There’s no proof that the Goddess is the one who grants your wish,” Byleth suggested, hoping to set his cynical sweetheart at ease. Yes, he concluded. Claude would be his sweetheart at the tower. It only seemed fitting, considering how closely they had grown over the past few months. And was that not the reason as to why Byleth invited him in the first place? Was that not the hidden meaning behind all of Claude’s gestures, the sweet glances, the adorable reactions to his words and his magnetic gaze?

There were too many steps up the tower. Byleth yearned to reach the top, to see the night sky that often settled his most troubling thoughts, but hummed softly when Claude slowed behind him. He turned to face the house leader, extending a hand. “Come now, Claude. It’s only a staircase.”

Claude chuckled breathlessly, and Byleth raised an eyebrow. Surely, he could not be out of breath from the steps. “I know, I know, no need to tease, Teach.” One look at the delicate rosy shade of his cheeks confirmed Byleth’s suspicions, and he smiled encouragingly as he took a few steps down, still outstretching his gloved hand.

Claude took his hand, his grip firm despite the tentative glance of his eyes. It was confident, sure and yet delicate with nervousness, like it was when he had taken Byleth’s hand at the dance. Byleth guided him up the remaining stone steps until they arrived at the outlook and made a silent decision to keep his hand on Claude’s until the latter pulled away. He did not.

“It seems that it’s just you and me up here…” Byleth said softly, leading Claude out onto the balcony to overlook the valley. A faint mist from the low clouds covered the ground below, but the mountains rose triumphantly around the monastery, bathed in deep blues and greens from the twinkling light of the stars, and the clear focused gleam of the moon above. “Do you have a wish?”

Claude was quiet, fixated on taking in the beautiful scene around them. His eyes dragged over each mountain peak, painting each tree and every shadow with that emerald gaze, capturing it for memories and later dreams. “I don’t have one wish, there’s far too many for me to decide… What about you?”

Byleth hummed quietly, turning to face the edge of the balcony and the night sky before them. “I can make one…” He paused. “How about we wish to remember this moment?”

Claude’s smile was pleasantly amazed, light and sage, but… happy. Something stirred in his eyes, bright green sparking the dark olive undertones, and they melted with a warmth that Byleth had never seen. The warmth of his heart had reached his eyes, and it was beautiful. It did not last long, but the expression burned into his memory like seething embers, ready to be ignited and seen once again.

“That sounds like a perfect wish,” Claude took Byleth’s free hand in his own, turning the man to face him fully and gazing into his own murky blue eyes. The shadows from the moon captured and contoured his face, his bronze skin glowing in an artist’s exquisite rendition of Claude’s playful daylight features. “So, let us pray.” He closed his eyes, a spirited smile dancing on his perfect lips. “Dear Goddess…”

Byleth could not look away. He did not dare lose a moment of this beauty, a second of this tremendous wonder. Instead, he gazed upon Claude’s lips, as they moved in perfect rhythm with the prayer he uttered, however doubtful of the faith he felt. Byleth traced Claude’s features with his dark eyes, the softness brought upon by the night and the absence of that outstanding gaze, how elegant his features seemed with a nation’s future on his shoulders, and yet how delicate youth had been preserved in the finest of details, the most careful of silhouettes. If memory was a painting, Byleth’s mind was a gallery enveloped in only love and intrigue, captured as a shrine to the young man in front of him. Every wall was lined with paintings, enslaved by awe and encapsulating thousands of expressions, glances, moments with him.

He did not notice when Claude had stopped speaking. His voice had since died off in a whisper, his eyes now open and staring into Byleth’s own. His expression hid nothing; pure and sweet, he smiled gently. His eyes gleamed.

“What are you looking at, Teach?” His words were a song, spoken smoothly and hushed, carried on the wind like a secret to be preserved. Like a prayer to be heard by spirits alone, or like a wish to be granted.

Byleth’s throat was dry, his lungs were empty. He was burning and freezing all at once, falling and flying, but none of it mattered. What mattered was there in front of him. He responded with a voice like wind, gentle and sincere, destined only for the one he wanted it to reach.

_"You."_


	4. Dimitri X Sylvain: Sylvain's Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Dimitri and Sylvain's B-Support! Sylvain rescues Dimitri from an angry girl, and learns something interesting in the meantime...  
> Requested by @Redlungs!

“I’ll go talk her down. Don’t you worry, Dimitri, I’ve got this.” Sylvain’s smile was bright and accenting something that the prince would usually try to talk down. But there was an angry, pretty girl right outside the room that Dimitri had quite awkwardly fled from – and she was angry at _both_ of them, Dimitri had yet to warn Sylvain.

 _He had yet to warn Sylvain._ Dimitri’s pale blue eyes widened behind flushed cheeks and his blond hair, which was now falling distractingly into his eyes. “Sylvain, wait! I forgot to tell you -”

But Sylvain’s confidence had whisked him out the door in a heartbeat, just as he had promised to protect his house leader. How this confidence always had gotten him into trouble, jumping in when his friends needed help, often because of his own foolish errors… Dimitri cringed at his own cowardice. He knew it was difficult for himself to speak to girls, and yet he had been bold enough to talk Sylvain down from his specialty – to even try and accept a challenge in it at that! If he had only been less reserved, spoken what he truly thought… He had done that though, hadn’t he?

Dimitri’s thoughts spun dizzyingly as he listened to the raised voices outside the door, to the livid volume of the girl’s pitched wails mounting over Sylvain’s smooth, easy voice, though it wavered with desperation. Dimitri stood in the centre of the room and gazed about, searching for anything to take his mind off this humiliating reality. Here he was, hiding away in his childhood friend’s room as the latter valiantly – or stupidly, either word may fit the situation – spoke down a furious girl over Dimitri’s embarrassing attempt at flirting.

Sylvain’s voice came closer to the other side of the closed door, as if he was planning a quick dive into the safety of his dorm. “Well, hey, look um…”

“Geraldine!” The girl spat. Dimitri groaned and put his head in his hands. This whole situation was a mess, and this poor girl! Having to put up with his own clumsiness was enough, but Dimitri pitied the girl for having to accept Sylvain’s ditzy responses as well.

“Geraldine, right! A beautiful name, I’m a fool for having forgotten!” Sylvain laughed, a strained sound as he tried to broach peace. “I’m sorry about all that, it has nothing to do with you, I’m sure! I just… Well, I didn’t know anything about this, to be honest. Look, I promise we’ll stay out of your way for the future to come, I promise.”

The girl mumbled something that Dimitri could not hear, still sounding horribly upset, but at least nullified. Her retreating footsteps were quick and heavy. Every step made Dimitri feel worse, suddenly dreading having to face Sylvain.

Within seconds, Sylvain was back in the room, shutting the door heavily behind him. His hand hesitated over the lock before he considered it with cautious, warmed brown eyes. Then he turned the lock with one swift movement, nodding to himself in a vow that it was for good measure.

Dimitri caught his gaze when he looked up. Were Sylvain’s eyes brown? Because sometimes something shown in them like fire; Dimitri had seen the anger and desperation in them on the battlefield, the melted embers after something silly tilted his mood, or even brought him to tears. Sometimes they were warm, a carefree brown that could easily play coy for being humble, and other times they blazed like a dark, raging fire of deep ochre and red.

But now, they were something the prince had never seen before. They were _seething,_ a rich boiling hue of a forest afire. The unsettling gaze caught Dimitri’s breath and made him want to shrink back. His pride stood its ground though, wounded as it was from the recent escapade, and his held his head high as he confronted this alarming change in his friend.

“She’s gone?”

Sylvain stood straight, coolly leaning his weight back as he crossed his arms. His tongue pushed at the inside of his cheek as the contemplated what to say, complexity dancing on his every feature. “Yeah. She’s gone.”

Dimitri almost sputtered at the pathetic response. Three words? Yet, with so much wrapped up in his face, in his motions, in his stance… Dimitri puzzled over the man before him. He had always regarded Sylvain as a sort of simpleton, an aloof and frivolous conscious. Yet, he seemed helpless to watch every day as his friend grew more and more complicated to read. Dimitri understood that he himself was not exempt from this change, from these mysteries… But he had never seen Sylvain as one to carry them with such a demeanour. Dimitri felt small and curious for once, wondering how many of Sylvain’s changes he had missed over the years.

Dimitri swallowed thickly, his throat betraying him by drying as he found himself fumbling for words. “So… It should be safe for me to go now.”

“No, we need to talk.” Sylvain paused, peering intently at Dimitri, no doubt catching as his face fell and his eyes were cast aside. Sylvain waited only a beat before accusing him. “Why did you talk to her about me?”

Dimitri’s thoughts were stumbling, falling over each other as this path of the coming conversation laid itself out before him. “I… approached her, and she instantly recognised me. She knew you, obviously, and I…”

“Thought it would be smart to compliment me while she was raving about how badly I treated her? I thought you were bad at this, Dimitri, not completely oblivious! Never talk about a girl’s ex to her as a first topic of conversation,” Sylvain sighed in disappointment, then he looked down, once again chewing the inside of his cheek in the pause before his next words. They came out much softer, the contrast startling Dimitri once again. “And especially, don’t talk about how good I am. How I’m… what did you say?”

He looked up at Dimitri, his eyes curious but harsh. As if he knew the answer but wanted to hear the prince say it for himself. It felt terribly exposing.

Dimitri’s cheeks flushed a traitorous tint of red. He forced himself to meet Sylvain’s gaze as he confessed, “I said that you weren’t as shallow as you seemed. And that she hadn’t been a fool to be drawn in by your charm. And… that you were reliable, deep down a good man, and…” Dimitri stopped in uncertainty.

“Keep going.” Sylvain’s voice was soft, a whisper across the space between them. Like he wanted the truth, but also couldn’t breathe again without knowing what it was Dimitri had spoken of him.

The prince could not respond. The words would not come, even as he recalled what he said. _Why_ had he said those things, when they obviously meant so much more? When they obviously had endless translations to his mess of feelings considering the dear friend before him?

“I didn’t say much else,” he admitted. “Just that regardless of what you did and do every day, you are still my friend.” He laughed painfully, awkwardly, trying to ease the tension in the small bedroom. “An awfully incorrect thing to say to a girl you’d set me up with. I’m… er, I’m afraid that I may have gotten carried away. Very much so.”

“Yeah, I would almost say what you did was stupid.” Sylvain huffed, folding his hands behind his head and letting out a deep, breathless sigh. “What does that even _mean_ , Dimitri? What did _any_ of that mean?”

“I told you that I was terrible at talking to women,” Dimitri defended, unsure of how to tread into this vulnerable territory. “And… it meant what it sounds like it means.”

Sylvain’s soft hair fell in his eyes as he tilted his head to gaze at Dimitri. “But it didn’t. It means more, doesn’t it?” He paused, bit his lip, and relaxed his arms. “Are you uh… not a ladies’ man, Dimitri?”

Dimitri paused. He had only considered the question a few times in his life. “I’m… not sure. But considering how I… regard some of my allies, I would think not entirely.”

“Allies… Am I included in that group, then?”

“…”

“Dimitri?”

“It would seem, yes.” Dimitri looked away, face burning. He had never intended to confess this to Sylvain, and having it drawn out of him was unpleasant. Yet, it came as a relief, a weight being lifted off his shoulders. From here, they could move on. Perhaps Dimitri would be more sensible, then.

Sylvain was frozen, staring at the ground just past Dimitri. His expression was stolid, his brows furrowed as he processed what his classmate, his friend, had told him. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Dimitri repeated, his expression briefly turning hurt. “Sylvain, you’ve got to stop these short answers with me, it’s torture! I know you can use an abundance of words for simple answers, and it can be terribly cumbersome… so do that instead, I beg of you!”

“I don’t know what else to say,” Sylvain mumbled, then laughed to himself, an incredulous smile splitting his face. He lifted his eyes to meet Dimitri’s, taking two confident steps towards him so that he was within arm’s reach. He placed a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder, who briefly flinched away. “I’m glad you told me.”

“So… that’s it?” Dimitri asked, dazed by how distant and strange his voice sounded. It felt so meek. “We’re still friends, then?”

Sylvain’s expression shifted as he pondered this, and Dimitri was once again lost in his handsome appearance. How his jaw shifted as he thought, the sudden sneaky appearance of the wrinkle that formed between his bright eyes and his nose – slightly crooked from a time it was broken when they were younger. Dimitri had rarely had reason to keep his eyes fixed on him for this long while they stood this close together, but he did not complain now, remaining silent as he anxiously waited for Sylvain’s response.

“I… Can I say something crazy?” Sylvain’s eyes flicked up to meet Dimitri’s. They were once again warm, an inviting and cosy bronze, and crinkling at the edges as he smiled, causing the light in the room to highlight his long, soft lashes.

“Er… yes?”

Sylvain’s smile turned to a grin, ecstatic and full of energy, like he had just taken a breath of fresh air on a beautiful summer day. “I’ve thought about being with you a little myself. I’ve never been… well, opposed to hitting on guys, but it’s a lot tougher to get through to them. They don’t fall for the same promises. And they generally don’t expect to have children who bear a Crest.” He laughed quietly. “Not that I do either, so really… If you’re willing to put up with me, I’d love to try, Your Highness.” He said these last words playfully, hoping the nudge would put Dimitri in good enough spirits to smile in response to his strange proposal.

Dimitri’s face flushed the colour of scarlet, accentuated against the blue fabric of his uniform and the even bluer depths of his eyes. “You’re… asking me out?”

“Yeah, I guess I am! Want to grab lunch some time, Dimitri?” Sylvain laughed and reached for Dimitri’s hand, using the leverage to pull him closer so that their chests heaved only centimetres apart. “I could use more flowery language, if you’re not swayed yet.”

“B-but, wait, Sylvain!” Dimitri stammered, flustered by the excitement of what he was saying, what he was implying, and how Dimitri had guiltily imagined this moment many times before, albeit with a different pretext. “You can’t continue your, um, skirt-chasing if we are to be a pair!”

Sylvain gasped softly, friskily, and his eyes sparkled. “You finally found a way to correct my impudent behaviour then, Dimitri. I’m proud of you. We’ll uh…” He blushed sheepishly. Dimitri’s heart instantly tumbled, melting for that blush. “We’ll see if it works.”

  
“It had better,” Dimitri retorted, huffing his response behind rich laughter. “I’m not some town girl who will let you off with a scolding and some tears. I am your future king, remember that, Sylvain. I will not hesitate to leave you wallowing in your misery if you wrong me.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you admit that with enough pride to use as a threat.” Sylvain beamed. “We’ll go slow, test the waters at first. This is new for both of us, and who knows, maybe you’ll be the one dumping me after a few weeks!”

“I doubt that, but I do suppose it would be wise to play it safe and open at first,” Dimitri could not keep the smile off his face, then asked as his tone shifted to one of concern. “Is that girl, Geraldine… Is she going to be alright?”

“Of course,” Sylvain grinned. “They always get over it. Plus, I don’t know how much you heard of what she said, but after you ran in here, she began to suspect this sort of thing was happening anyways… I told her not to mention it, and that we’d leave her alone. Problem solved.” He winked. “Told you that I’ve got this.”

“I hope I don’t have to underestimate you in the future,” Dimitri chuckled. He hesitated before boldly slipping his arms around Sylvain and pulling him in for a close embrace. Sylvain’s chest was firm, his heartbeat thudding against Dimitri’s own. It was comforting, to know that despite the energy of the afternoon, their pulses were experiencing the same rhythm. Dimitri felt understood in a way that was new, exciting and frightening all at once. He was nervous to see what the future would bring, or if it would bring anything at all, but he felt proud of himself for taking the first step.

Sylvain smiled gently, wrapping his arms around Dimitri in response and holding him close, one hand threading into his silky blond hair. The uncertainty between them was innocent, tasted of new beginnings and tentative firsts for so many things, carrying shy promises and thrilling dares. It was sweet, and perhaps even, carried with it dreams of a new life. A life to continue long after this moment in which they held each other; a life free from lies, secrets, and even ties of blood. The future was uncertain, but it was good.


	5. Dimitri X Dedue: The Cathedral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Timeskip. Dedue stays by Dimitri's side one night in the Cathedral. He only desires to reach out to him.

The moonlight shone a frozen beam, bathing the pale stone in a haunting light. Hundreds of subtle hues took their solemn place across the pillars and arches, projected from the shattered murals of stained glass. No sound filled the cathedral, or even graced its hallowed, broken walls with a whisper of presence. There was nothing but stillness, save for a cold, fleeting breeze that died quickly, finding nothing to disturb.

A monstrous pile of crushed architecture rose at the head of the chamber, a symbolic mountain of painful memory to defile nostalgia. Its height climbed with each fragmented brick and every jagged shard of coloured glass. Seen in the soundless night, the cathedral was now a place of memories past, only an echo of the majesty and peace it once brought. The strength that resembled its purity now lay a defeated mass, needing the selfless repair of those who found solace in its halls.

A figure bearing the weight of these same despondencies lay hunched at the foot of the rubble. His hollow features, even while resting, were shrouded by the shadow of a cloak too broad for the shoulders of a boy but fitting well against those cursed to the being of a man. Hair the colour of a bright, forgotten sunshine sprawled delicately about his face, tickling his nose and cheeks, and covering his eyes. His expression soft, he lay at peace, the only time it would dare to bless his weary heart and tired mind. At rest against the stone, his closed eyes bore no witness to plaguing apparitions.

On the long, intricately carved wooden pew at the forefront of this room, feet from the sleeping shell of a king, Dedue sat with the stillness enveloping his troubled thoughts and aching heart. Despite being there for some time, he had long since embraced the silence in exchange for the comfort in seeing his highness finally getting some rest. He determined it to be accidental and had understood this with sympathy to be a reason to stay by his side for the evening. He had watched throughout the night as Dimitri’s rest became disturbed, nightmares dancing behind his closed eyelids, but they had always again subsided to deeper breathing and delicate, healing slumber. Dedue’s watchful presence remained stationed mere steps away should the sleeping king need him.

A cloud made its way over the silvery moon, the light growing dimmer and enveloping the ruins of the cathedral in darkness. Dedue’s eyes adjusted slowly, glancing up through the gaping chasm in the ceiling to see if he could place where the source of light had gone. Seeing only the blackened silhouette of the cloud surrounded by the thousands of twinkling stars, a feeling of tranquillity washed over him.

The same could not be said for Dimitri. As the light disappeared, he stirred, a chill draping over his sleeping form. A mumbled phrase drifted from his lips, swept into the breeze from the night as his hair fell once more over his eyes. The deep, rhythmic breaths that had soothed him became shallow and quick. Dedue glanced in his direction, willing his highness to return to whatever calm place his dreams had conjured. Yet, in moments as brief as he had likely drifted off, Dimitri was jolted awake. His open eye pierced the night, burning blue chasing the shadows from his vision and locking on the haunts seen only to himself.

There was a pause. A moment passed in which Dimitri’s gaze met Dedue, who remained still on his bench. His eye narrowed, his brow contorted as he discerned the living from the dead. Then he sat up, aching body moving slowly but surely.

His voice came a surprise, although low and gradual. The tone was parched and unused. “Dedue… you’re still here.” Dedue had not heard his voice since their momentary reunion, and had since then not heard it for years. It filled him with relief and struck a chord of sadness, wishing to hear his words as often as he once had.

“I am,” Dedue’s own voice came soothing and deep. It was a voice richly belonging in the echoic chamber of the cathedral, although in this place it had often felt so alien to him. His eyes never left Dimitri’s ragged form, his movements only made strong by a daily desperation.

Dimitri stood and faced the rubble, his head down. “Why? There is nothing for you to gain in this place.”

Dedue let his highness’s words hang in the air. He thought of their meaning. He did not have religious purpose to gain from this church, although it provided silence for his thoughts to reach equanimity. He did not have emotional purpose to gain from this church, although it provided a place for which to soothe few of his worries. He did not have happiness to gain from this church, although it allowed him to see his king. Broken as he may be, and even if unwell, seeing Dimitri alive brought a sense of repose to Dedue that would otherwise be unattainable.

“I have something,” Dedue responded, his words filling the silence in the space between them. They filled the quiet between his stolid expression, masking compassion, and Dimitri’s hunched shoulders, declaring exhaustion.

Dimitri exhaled precious air in a scoff. “No, you do not. Not here. I know you better than that, Dedue.”

Dedue watched, remaining still. He did not want to push into places he was unwanted, but he longed to be present. “What do you think I am here for?”

“You are here believing you owe something to me.” Dimitri’s voice remained haggard, even as he delivered words with force. “You never once owed me a thing, yet you followed me like a dog. With saving my life from execution, you repaid whatever imaginary debt bound us. I would think you freed.” He tilted his head towards the ceiling, the returning moonlight shining on his features. Pale and weary, the light traced the scars on his face, his chin, his neck. His hair fell back in unkempt waves.

Dedue’s eyes took in the sight of his highness before him. The one whom he had always seen as his majesty. He stood and took a cautious step forward. “My debt is lifelong. And even free, I would choose to stay by your side.” He did not know how else to articulate such a truth, one he felt not only with his soldier’s fortitude, but with his softest need and warmest heart. Once again, Dedue feared his words not enough, and felt despair that his actions never were.

Frustrated came the response, “ _Why_ , Dedue? What do you have from me?”

Dedue did not know how to reply. Language failed him. “You…” He hesitated. He took a breath of chilled air. “You gave me a purpose. You gave me life, Your Highness. That is what I have from you.”

Silence followed. It was not a gentle silence, and yet not hostile. It was an enigmatic discomfort, suspended between truth and the unspeakable, pain and the unimaginable.

“If you do not live for yourself… if you have no life of your own…” Dimitri clenched his fists by his sides, shoulders rising. He turned, royal blue cloak swirling about him, deeming his stance enormous and ominous. “Then you are merely another spirit who haunts me.”

Dedue stared in response. He regressed to silence, searching for a truth to share with Dimitri, something to reach him. They stood only feet away, yet Dedue felt lost with only a desire to find him again. An idea came in the form of a memory, in the whispers of a voice he had not heard in so long. He felt the words rise to his tongue and hesitated to share them. But soon they came, slow and assured. “I would only be haunting you if I were a ghost… but I am one of the living. Spirits do not haunt.”

Dimitri’s chin rose until he looked upon Dedue with a resemblance of scorn. The expression was shallow, though, weakness showing through as his gaze wandered. His eye did not focus on Dedue, instead looking aside and behind him. It pained Dedue to see Dimitri struggling to verify his truth that he was the one in this cathedral who was still of flesh and blood, not an apparition from the past. Dedue longed to reach out to Dimitri, to touch him and assure him that he was there. To bring him down to his feet instead of lost adrift in his mind. Dedue wanted to find him; or perhaps, he wanted to be found.

“You misunderstand me,” Dimitri turned his body, now facing the source of the moonlight, high in the sky and parallel to the rubble beside him.

Dedue posed a simple question in return. “Do you want me gone?”

Dimitri did not answer. His distant gaze remained now on the sky, and his lips remained still. He made no gesture of reply.

More memories joined Dedue. The quiet left a slate for him to share them. “My mother once told me… that in Duscur, spirits are inhabitants of the earth. That they exist in everything.” Dedue turned to look at the moon as well. “They give life to each and every thing. The moon, the sky, the wind and rain and sea… The spirits give life to every tree, stone, animal, and above all, humans themselves.”

Once again, Dimitri did not speak. Instead, his posture shifted, his back straightening as he continued to look up. Dedue glanced over at him and saw his gaze was soft, still fixed on the expansive sky above him. The silver ring of light from the moon reflected in his beautiful, sad blue eye, distant and ethereal.

Dedue came to speak another truth, this time in a lulled tone brought forth by his solemn observation. “Your spirit is broken, Your Highness.” Dimitri’s breath hitched, emotion catching his air and bringing a tremble to his lips. Dedue saw his opportunity, finally saw his highness within reach. Time had kept the king just past arm’s length, around every corner and one step too far to be caught when he fell. But now he had stopped, and Dedue was by his side, where he belonged. At long last, Dimitri had allowed him to ease his burden, to give him the shoulder to lean on that had always been offered, and had so often been denied.

Dedue continued, his words breathing forth the newfound hope he wished only to offer. “Your Highness… If I am a spirit attached to you, then please, allow me to give you life.”

“Dedue…” Dimitri’s voice was a whisper, a fragment like those of the lovely stained-glass windows, scattered now along the ground. “You have given me life since the day you came to serve me. The day I saved you… you saved me as well. Without that, I would have lost reason to live much earlier than this…” He paused, and his gaze shifted down. Dedue took a step forward, outstretching his hand, fearful that he was fading out of reach again. It found Dimitri’s shoulder. Dimitri leaned ever so slightly into the touch. “I wonder what my life means, despite all this.”

Support enveloped Dimitri as Dedue stepped forward, close to his highness now. His hand shifted to his opposite shoulder so that he may come close to embracing him. Dedue wanted him to know – no, _needed_ him to know – that he was there. “I may take that as an insult, Your Highness.” He quickly continued before Dimitri could mistake his words. “If I have given you life, yet it still carries no meaning, then clearly I have done something wrong.”

“I did not mean that,” Dimitri’s shoulders fell in shame, a weight being lifted and another one taking its place. The new burden was a challenge as he struggled to find words, to find the meaning he searched for. “I feel that I should be doing more with what you’ve given me. With what all of you have given me. While my body may live, my hands take life. Does that not charge my spirit tenfold?” He wavered. “Will I not be punished for the actions I have committed? The life I have every day only dooms me to longer suffering in the Eternal Flames… I am sorry that your gift has become my curse. I am sorry that I have misused it so.”

“We have all taken life. That is the cost of this war, Your Highness,” Dedue held him. “For us to continue living, for you to have the opportunity to use your life as you wish, others must fall. It is a cruel thing, but it is the reality in which we live. I wish that I could take this burden from you.”

Dimitri’s breath shuddered again, and he turned his head to this time look at Dedue. His gaze was clear, intent when he saw him, for the first time since Dedue had returned. Perhaps even since before then. “I do not wish my pain upon you.”

“Every day you feel pain,” Dedue’s heavy pulse beat in rhythm with the truth he expressed, “I feel it as well. I would rather take your burden as my own than let you shoulder it in solitude. In that way, only one of us would be in anguish… And even that may bring me peace.”

The response that came was choked. “Dedue…” The addressed man looked down as Dimitri began to shake, his shoulders heaving with release as tears too long fought were at last let go. They trickled down his cheeks in gentle paths, each one finding its own way to his chin and falling, losing themselves in the fur of his heavy cloak. Dedue knew that this was a noiseless moment, one never to be spoken of and tucked safely into memory. He knew that in this state, Dimitri could not control where his emotions brought him, and that this may change with the coming dawn. Still, he accepted his king with strong arms and a loyal embrace, seeking to ease his hurt if only for the night.

Dimitri’s reply broke through his tremulous breaths and uneven sobs. “You pledged your life… and now your spirit to me, Dedue? Is that what this is?”

Dedue coveted this truth. He said it steadily, evenly to soothe the man he held and to solidify the intent of his words. “I have told you, Your Highness. To me, they are one in the same. If I remain but a spirit to you, as long as I have one to call my being, I want only for it to be yours.”

Dimitri fell silent, his damp, pale cheeks reflecting the even paler moonlight as he closed his eye. He tilted his head up to take slow, steadying breaths. Moments passed. His expression was not troubled, only weary and pensive. As he stood in the silence, his body was calm. His mind had stilled. Dedue gazed upon him, under the light of a thousand stars, reflective glass and a single moon. His pale eyes traced the scars on his face, the strands of his golden hair and the curve of his features. Dedue committed this face of a king to memory. In this light, in this moment between them, it was iridescent.

“Then… I thank you Dedue. For all of the times you have saved me. For… all of the times you have given me meaning.” Dimitri looked forward. “I know not what tomorrow will bring, and I know not when my pain will end, but… I do know that you are by my side when I struggle to see life.”

A smiled graced Dedue’s lips. “That is all I ask. And one day… One day your pain will end. I will be sure of it. And we may find the joy of living that has been forgotten.”

Dimitri looked up at Dedue, his crutch and his friend, his foundation and his purpose. His reason to be and his reason to continue being. He longed to see the future in which he could feel all Dedue said and share with him the promises made. Dimitri felt that longing blossom a new vow in his heart, a new determination to be discovered and kindled. “I… look forward to that day. I do.”

Through the chasm in the ceiling, the moonlight shone upon the pair, a king and his vassal. The stones bathed in its illuminating beams were a myriad of hues, reflected and warped by the shattered projections through stained glass. Silence was the only presence, but words needed not to be spoken between the two. The holy place was a sanctuary, not tonight as a place of worship, but as a place to covet the promises made. There was nothing but tranquillity, and the bond built through trust and sacrifice, strengthened through calmness and embrace. A cold, fleeting breeze drifted through and died quickly, finding nothing to disturb. Through pain shared and healing breaths, the night was still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all!  
> Just a quick little note - I wrote this particular oneshot as a sample piece for a submission to the "Cherished" Dimidue Fanzine! (Unfortunately I will not post the pieces I sent in for the actual SUBMISSION pieces, until I find out whether I was selected or not or what to do with them). If you haven't heard of "Cherished", look around for it on Twitter @CHERISHEDZINE.   
> Essentially, it's gonna be a complete work of art and writing submissions all centered around the wonderful, precious ship that is Dimidue, in which all of the proceeds will go towards NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness).  
> Unfortunately, the applications are closing in 2 days, so sorry for not promoting it earlier. But, if you are still interested in acquiring a copy and/or some merch and in doing so donating to NAMI, please follow the zine!  
> This particular ship means a lot to me for the same reason that the zine exists; Dimitri and Dedue are both wonderful, complex characters who struggle with mental illnesses ranging from the smallest things (inferiority complex) to the biggest (psychosis, PTSD, depression). But throughout the progression of the canon storyline and especially their ships, we as fans get to watch as together, they overcome these things and begin their process of healing, key word TOGETHER. This ship is precious and beautiful and focused on healing and comfort, and that's something that everyone should have, and those who suffer from mental illness should especially have.  
> Anyways, thank you for letting me digress, and thank you so much for reading these oneshots!  
> Stay clean, wash your hands and stay safe from COVID-19 and germs in general! Watch out for each other, and be kind to one another.  
> Thanks!  
> ~Thirth


	6. Claude X Lorenz: The Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-War Verdant Wind. Lorenz runs to speak with Claude before his departure to Almyra.

“It will… be a shame to see you go, Claude. As I said before, you would have made a… fine leader. Under some gentle guidance, of course.” Lorenz cleared his throat twice as he spoke, the words themselves trying to stay lodged in his throat. His profile was turned to Claude, indigo eyes sweeping over the valley below the bridge in an effort to avoid his gaze.

Claude was still trying to process how they had ended up here. He had been on a walk, to clear his head from the restless packing and plans for his departure East, when he had encountered Lorenz at the cathedral. They had greeted each other respectfully, curtly, and Claude had been on his way. He had wanted to be alone, but a part of him yearned to turn around and return to Lorenz.

Instead, Lorenz had run after him.

And now here they were, entrenched in a conversation that seemed too awkward for Lorenz to carry alone and too spontaneous for Claude to know where to begin. Usually, he was light on his feet in situations like this, but with Lorenz… it was always different. Recently, Claude felt like he had to dance around his responses with the noble. Any word could set him off; he would grow unbearably aggravated, but not in his flustered, prideful manner that speckled their days at the Academy. This Lorenz would go quiet, red tainting those elegant, sharp cheekbones and thin lips pressed in a hard line.

Other times, he would stare wistfully, as if the conversation itself exhausted him. He sighed much more than usual, and while his demeanour was fine around the others, something about the way this all seemed targeted around Claude made the Almyran suspicious.

It wasn’t a matter of trust; he had decided long before the war ended that he trusted Lorenz. The noble had even been told as such. But Claude always did love a good mystery, and the changes in his ally’s now lovingly snobbish personality was far from getting an exception.

Claude decided to proceed with a tease, to keep things natural. Lorenz thought he could use guidance? Okay, avoid his ego. “From Teach? Yeah, for sure. But they’ll be so busy with running the Church now…”

Lorenz huffed, a dainty and irked exhale through his delicate nose. “I was referring to myself.” There it was: the blush and the abstaining-from-frowning face.

A part of Claude felt guilty for eating it up. He wanted to know what the matter was, but something about the stubborn responses eased his nerves into knowing it was probably a petty disagreement. He was going to miss Lorenz, truly and deeply. It was a bit unexpected, but over the years they had grown to be friends. Claude made sure that his teasing stayed relentless, but over time it became more and more endearing. People had probably begun to notice, but he wasn’t sure if they understood the direction it took. The affection for the Gloucester heir that it really demonstrated. And furthermore, he didn’t care if people knew. For once… Claude wanted to be obvious about something.

It had begun to trouble him, though. With each passing day, as he said his goodbyes, he had put this one off. He just… wasn’t ready.

Now, here on the bridge and overlooking the magnificent Oghma mountains, it sadly seemed as good a time as any. The valley dipped far below, its depths obscured by the low-hanging clouds that did nothing to block the beautiful blue sky above them. Claude looked at Lorenz, teases and taunts dying on his tongue. The noble was gazing forlornly at the horizon, the violet hair swept over his right shoulder swaying gently in the breeze. The sight, pure and simple, tore at Claude’s heart. It was like a portrait, but a portrait capturing the melancholy of such beauty.

“Hey, Lorenz, don’t worry. I always have plans, you know that. I even had a plan for how to let you be Sovereign Duke if I stayed!” He hoped his grin didn’t seem forced, as Claude willed the peppiness into it. He wanted Lorenz to smile back at him, to scold him in turn or _something_. Leaving was all he had ever dreamed for, and he’d be damned if he let this snooty noble damper that.

Although, _snooty_ wasn’t the only adjective he would use. When Lorenz turned his eyes to Claude, one thin brow raised almost regally. Claude wanted to shrink under that gaze sometimes, but not now. When Lorenz widened his eyes a little, wary and yet hopeful, he was downright adorable. Claude tried to absorb every second of his responses, his gestures, his features. All minute details to carry with him while he left.

“You stepping down from your position?” Lorenz pursed his lips and nodded in an almost approving fashion. “That may be the most intelligent decision you’ve ever made, Claude.”

Ah, _there_ was the witty response he’d been waiting for. Claude’s grin widened, more earnest and thrilled. He watched the pink tinge on Lorenz’s cheeks spread. “Well, when you say it like that, it may have been a very dumb decision then…” Claude put a hand on the rail, leaning forward with a schemer’s smirk. He knew Lorenz would take the bait, and Claude would not cease to challenge him – his patience nor his restraint. This banter came so easily, and the Almyran soberly acknowledged how deeply he would miss it.

Lorenz actually leaned forward, the boldness of his move wiping the smugness off of Claude’s face for the briefest of seconds. His voice, spoken through the slightest of smirks on his own lips, was smooth, like the silk of his sheets or the velvet of his clothing. “Why is that? I think it’s quite a brilliant idea.”

Despite his blunder, Claude recovered quickly. The punch line, the heart to his taunt was yet to be delivered. “Well, it involved marrying you, so I knew it was right. But that hasn’t always meant ‘smart’ for me.” Claude’s eyes squinted when he laughed, leaning back and spinning on his heel to look over the bridge. “I’m actually going though, so don’t worry. You won’t have to deal with me in married life.”

When he was met with silence, Claude frowned, turning back to face the noble. His quip died on his tongue when he saw the taller man glaring at the ground. His furrowed brows, his hardened, lovely eyes, all the way down to his trembling, clenched fists spoke of a frustration beyond words. Moreso, a _hurt_. Claude balked, lips parting but voice silent, suddenly feeling terrible for whatever unknown grievance he had caused. After years of pranks, teases, games and orders, Lorenz rarely reacted in this way. Why would he, during such times of peace?

The man before him spoke in a voice that had lost the suave pitch from earlier, now strung and tense. “Why would you… say such a silly thing? When you know you will be leaving?”

Claude floundered. He hated the feeling, regret quickly taking hold of his reactions. “Lorenz, I…”

“It took me _years_ to grow fond of you,” Lorenz practically spat. There wasn’t menace in his voice. He was just sad. He seemed once again like the temperamental young boy from their Academy days, only there was something more to this. There was an aching, a resignation and a wisdom to how he spoke. “It took _years_ , Claude. And now… And now I’m afraid I feel as though I’m being cheated out of more time with you. Of time as friends.” One slender hand came to rest against his forehead, rubbing his temples and pinching the space between his eyes before it fell back to rest on his hip.

Claude tried to laugh, but it came out nervous. Forced. Clearly an attempt to alleviate the guilty discomfort blossoming in his chest like the rose in Lorenz’s lapel. Claude stared at the flower as he continued. “We were always friends, Lorenz. We had enough time…”

“We weren’t.”

“I’m sorry?”

Lorenz sighed, tossing his hair as he lifted his head, glaring down that perfect, slender nose at the shorter man before him. “We weren’t always friends.” There was doubt to his tone, even as he struggled to be arrogant, defiant, whatever would make him feel more powerful against the feelings that rendered him so powerless.

Claude insisted. Those verdant green eyes narrowed, confidence brimming in them as he tried to stare down whatever worries were plaguing the treasured man before him. “We were. We were friends, Lorenz. We _are_ friends.”

“Then I wish we could have more time!” Lorenz tossed a hand up in defeat, gazing out at the valley, once again not meeting Claude’s eyes. “And if we began now as friends, then it could grow into something… something stronger. Something…” He huffed, cheeks darkening as he shifted his feet uncomfortably. “ _More_ , perhaps.”

The shame that caused that rosy hue of Lorenz’s cheeks quickly spread up, rimming his eyes as they glassed over. He _tch_ ed at himself, squeezing them shut and raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose again. Claude watched with growing helplessness as the pinch turned into a rub, Lorenz pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes as pitiful sniffles became the only sounds in the space between them. Meekly, Lorenz then crossed his other arm over his stomach, hugging himself and clenching his fist in an obvious attempt to quell the vulnerable emotions on display.

Claude hesitated, unsure of what to do. This was unpredicted to say the least, and yet his heart ached at seeing Lorenz so miserable. But looking back on it, Claude began to trace the signs in his memory. The noble had invited him to tea three times that week, only two of which Claude was able to attend. He recalled brief glimpses of Lorenz’s eyes glued to him while he walked by, even the gentle touches he received on his shoulders and back. Claude had assumed they were all friendly; the affection was not out of place, when word got out of his departure. And yet, Lorenz was usually more reserved when it came to Claude…

 _Gods,_ Claude was stupefied at his own ignorance. _I should have known._

But maybe a part of him hadn’t wanted to overthink it. A defence mechanism took root in his mind to obscure the gestures, to blend them in with everyone else’s, in order to hide this aching guilt and sadness he felt in his own heart. There were so many people Claude was going to miss, but Lorenz… Lorenz, he considered one of those he had grown closest to. Lorenz was one of the few he truly trusted. And Lorenz was… someone he had wanted to trust for so long.

Claude swallowed thickly, a pathetic attempt to clear the lump now formed in his throat. His voice came out quieter than he thought it would. “Lorenz? Are you…” He started again. “Hey, come on… You know I’m not good with people crying in front of me.” He walked forward, closing the meagre distance between them with steps that only barely sounded against the stones beneath them. One hand lifted to touch Lorenz’s elbow, the other rose to his cheek. Claude’s calloused thumb traced tears from the taller man’s flushed face, silently willing his eyes to meet his own. When indigo met emerald, Claude smiled gently.

Lorenz sniffled once more. “I’m terribly sorry… You probably are planning your leave. I shall be going, to make myself presentable.” He turned to leave, but didn’t get far as Claude’s hold tightened.

“Wait, Lorenz, hey,” His hand went from Lorenz’s arm to his waist; the fingers that had been carefully stroking his cheek now gripped his hand tightly. “Why are you crying over me? You’ll get everything you want…” Claude’s smile dropped, his eyes murky as he tried to understand. The expression of confusion was foreign on his face, and had Lorenz been in a better state, he would have been delighted to study every inch of it. But his ignorance was torture, his departure only promising more hurt and loneliness than Lorenz wished to consider.

“You’re such a fool, Claude.” A breathless laugh escaped the taller man’s lips, but there was no mirth in the sound. “The desire only to rule… that was the dream of a boy. As a man, I understood greater values. I want to lead, but not… without you. Life will be so terribly dull, and I’ve learned that we work better as a team than I could ever hope to work alone.”

“Well,” Claude was touched by his words. His heart warmed as his smile grew wider. “If you’re the leader, then when I inevitably come back to make peace with Fódlan, you’ll be there to meet me, right?” Lorenz’s tears were now dry, and he kept his eyes on Claude, watching the words dance across those smiling lips as he spoke.

Claude pressed on, his want to lighten Lorenz’s mood conjuring gentle words that were not lies. Instead, he felt like one of the silly poets Lorenz would sometimes find in himself to quote. His words may not be prose, but they were honest and from his heart. It felt strange, exposed in a way that Claude was still getting used to, but he liked it. “Then, we can talk politics and play chess, boring things to reminisce our competitiveness from back in the day… You know, all of the things I’d never have time to do with you if I stayed and was always busy playing Duke Riegan.” Claude laughed quietly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the smile. “Believe me, Lorenz. I’d rather spend the time with you.”

Lorenz gasped, aghast. “You think chess is boring? Coming from a master tactician, colour me surprised.” The redness around his eyes was starting to go away, but the flush of his cheeks seemed a permanent sentiment now.

“See, you’re lightening up already!” Claude could not fight the chuckle that rose once again in his chest.

Lorenz replied with a soft smile of his own, only it did not echo the same joy carried by Claude’s humour. “And what will happen when you’re not there for me to banter with? To… to lighten me up?”

The Almyran bit the inside of his cheek, gaze wandering over the view as he thought of a proper response. “Grow your flowers.” At Lorenz’s quizzical look, he continued. “Look at them every day, and know that whenever I see a rose, or any red flower, I’ll think of you.” His hand left Lorenz’s waist to gently touch the rose in his lapel. Made steady by years of handling a bowstring, his fingers caressed the petals whilst giving them no harm. After the gesture, his hand laid still on Lorenz’s chest, and when he looked up, his eyes were full of promise. “The desert flowers in Almyra are always red.”

Lorenz’s heartrate was rapid, his breath rising and falling as he controlled his reactions, his longing and his loneliness at hearing such sweet words before their speaker left him. He replied in protest, but his voice was soft, once again resembling the velvet of his elegant clothing. “It really will be so dull though, despite the flowers.”

“Then write to me! You’re so stubborn, Lorenz!” Claude’s warm heart burst with rich, caring laughter as he rolled his eyes. “Write me stories, poems, letters about _you_! And in turn, I’ll write of my travels and send you gifts from afar!” Both hands lifted to cup the taller man’s face, green eyes briefly captured by the gorgeous violet waterfall of Lorenz’s hair dropping to curtain the space between them.

Lorenz leaned in, having to stoop down slightly to meet the gentle, insistent guidance of Claude’s hands. He did not respond, indigo eyes only briefly glancing down at the lips of the man in front of him. They delivered sweet promises, ones he would previously have believed to be fibs and mendacities. But now, he knew them to be words of trust, vows to preserve that conviction and keep their bond close.

Claude stood on his tiptoes to kiss Lorenz. It was brief, sweet, and tasted of tea and sugar. Everything he ever imagined, from the pressure of Lorenz’s lips against his own, to the nervous cadence of his breath, even down to the disappointed whimper when they parted was all Claude needed to be fulfilled for his journey. He knew that he would be returning, as soon as he could and as often as he wanted, if only to grace those lips again. He refrained so that the motivation remain driving him, so that he may speak in place to secure its meaning.

“Separation does not mean we will be apart. Dry your tears, Lorenz…” Claude chuckled, breathless and hushed to not break the tender spell. “You’ll be tired of me by the third letter of the week.”

Lorenz’s eyes were soft, pleading and longing and loving all at once. His gaze did not want to let go, nor his hands pressed firmly to the small of Claude’s back. “You will write that often? I expect no less…”

Claude lifted a finger to gently touch his nose, his smile glowing. It was more beautiful a sight than the whole view around them. “To you, Sovereign Duke Gloucester, it would be an honour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this one was actually sweet to write.  
> I drafted this chapter three times last night, taking me well into 2 or 3 am before I decided to scrap the whole thing. And what you just witnessed was this afternoon's writing and editing.  
> I had to do a lot of thinking to capture some emotions in this chapter. I had to figure out whose perspective to write from, and the reasons of "why" behind a lot of the actions.  
> But the thing is - Claude has a deep respect, admiration and adoration for Lorenz. Think about it - romantically or not - Claude values people who challenge what they are told, explore what they believe in and aren't afraid to represent it. And is that not what Lorenz did his whole time knowing Claude?   
> Sure, it was rude and immature, but Lorenz refused to blindly accept what was going on. Claude, in his youth, probably found this irritating and the actions of a bigot, but eventually, especially as Lorenz matured, he grew to appreciate and relate to his stubborn drive to stand up for himself.  
> And in turn, Lorenz cares for Claude. As he matures through the time skip, he learns from Claude what it means to be independent, to seek and stand for his own values. That in and of itself gave him strength; he observes that without that independence, he may not have survived the war.   
> I turned this chapter into a sweet goodbye-kiss, but really, any way you look at the development of their relationship, romantically or not, there's a deep respect there. I love that.  
> I did a lot of thinking lol.  
> Anyways, before I go, I just want to remind everyone to be safe during these crazy times! Take social distancing seriously, please, so we can keep each other and the ones we love safe. Wash your hands, and stay healthy!  
> Love y'all! Thanks so much for reading!


	7. Linhardt X Caspar: The Infirmary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linhardt wakes in the Infirmary with a nasty wound, and his favourite fighter by his side.

Linhardt’s eyes did not want to open. A familiar pressure of exhaustion pushed at his forehead, imploring them to remain closed for as long as possible. He sighed quietly and attempted to turn over, to mesh his face into the soft pillow beneath him and drift back off into the bliss of sleep, when the rest of his senses awoke.

The pressure in his head turned into an ache, a throb that continued behind his brow and past his ears. Any deep breath caused spindles of pain to snake their way through to his back, and every part of him felt stiff. Linhardt groaned quietly as he tried to adjust, tried to do anything to alleviate this discomfort, but it followed – if not increased – with every movement.

When the smell hit him – that stale, crisp smell of the Infirmary – he opened his eyes. They felt puffy and swollen, but managed to snap open all the same. The light was offensively bright, streaming in from the high windows seemingly directly onto his face, but he adjusted soon enough. He saw himself tucked under the starch white sheets of one of the beds, a rack of medical ointments and vials at his side, and on his other… Caspar.

His bright, rigid blue hair was tousled, as though he’d been running his hands through it, but his even brighter stare was fixed on Linhardt. They were soft with worry, anxious and alert, and coupled with his posture on the edge of the seat, Linhardt assumed that he’d been keeping watch at his bedside for Goddess knows how long.

The mage rubbed his sore eyes, head still feeling foggy as he tried to recollect the events that brought him here. Caspar was surprisingly quiet, either waiting for him to speak first or unsure of what to say.

Finally, he shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, and asked in a tentative whisper, “Are you feeling okay, Linhardt?”

The addressed boy blinked blearily and shook his head. “Not really. What…” A small yawn escaped his lips, and dissolved into a cough as Linhardt brought a hand up to cover it. More webs of pain shot through to his back with the efforts, and he winced in discomfort. Whatever had happened, it was likely very bad. “What time is it?”

“Sometime around noon,” Caspar reached behind him and grabbed a small vial. “I’m supposed to give this to you, since you woke up. I think you drink it?”

“It’s medicine, of course I drink it…” Linhardt took the vial and uncorked it, sniffing the rim and scrunching his nose at the putrid aroma. Regardless, he pinched his nostrils shut and downed the contents, cringing at the sour tang of the fluid. “That was repulsive. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Lin,” Caspar peered at him, concerned, and reached out. Linhardt did not like seeing that expression on his face; it was too soft for Caspar’s determined attitude, his bold demeanour. And the worry felt out of place coming from his somewhat scratchy voice, meant for shouting and laughing and being the pure energy that embodied _Caspar_. Linhardt’s gut felt heavy as Caspar grabbed his hand, which was larger and softer than the fighter’s small, calloused palm. “You’ve been out for a week.”

Dark blue eyes blinked in confusion, alarm beginning to twitch the mage’s features. “What? That long?” Linhardt hesitated only a moment before pulling back the covers to examine his body, gaze landing not on his pale skin or the amass of bandages wrapped around his torso and hips, disappearing into his trousers. Instead, he found the condemning reddish stain that lie in the centre of it all. If he had been out for a week, there shouldn’t still be blood there. There shouldn’t be blood _anywhere_ on Linhardt, because he always stayed to the back. He was a healer, rarely getting in harm’s way, and this wasn’t… this was exactly why he stayed _away_ from fighting.

Caspar gripped his hand tighter as Linhardt balked, sweat brimming at his hairline and his lip beginning to quiver. The smaller boy quickly tugged the blankets down, trying desperately to be gentle, so Linhardt would stop looking. “Hey, hey you’re going to be okay! Don’t worry about it, you’re awake now so you’ll be fine in no time, Lin…”

Linhardt’s voice sounded strange in his ringing ears, distant as he tried to swallow back waves of nausea. Bile continued to rise in his throat, burning and tasting foul on the very rear of his tongue. He could almost feel the wound under those bandages, gaping and scabbing and filthy, but was trying with everything he had not to think about it. “H-how did that happen…? _What_ happened?”

“You…” Caspar scooted his chair closer and kept his gaze down, bright blue fixed on their hands, clasped atop the soft blankets. “You came to help me.” His voice was ashamed, small as it trembled against the anger clearly weighing on his shoulders.

He refused to let go of the mage’s hand; and looking at him, Linhardt felt something else stir in his stomach. _Definitely more nausea_ , he concluded, not wanting to convolute his already scattered thoughts with feelings to sort out. Instead, he prodded for more information; while it was gross to talk about, Linhardt knew that he could not rest easy until the curiosity of his hazy memory was fulfilled.

“Why did I do that? Come on, Caspar… I asked you what _happened_.”

Caspar groaned, disappointed as he forced the words out. “We were taking care of some Demonic Beasts… You were behind us, as usual, and I… was in bad shape. And you came to heal me, but it wasn’t enough. So instead, you… tried to take the offensive, to get rid of the monster before it could get me, and you couldn’t do it. So, it attacked you and…” He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting through the memory. His voice was soft with regret when he finally continued. “It nearly cut you in half… I thought I’d lost you.”

“How am I still alive…?” Linhardt tried to remember for himself, bits and pieces surfacing after Caspar’s recounting of the story.

_He remembered panic, seeing Caspar fall and… feeling sure that he’d just watched his best friend die. He remembered a roar as he turned to the beast, remembered summoning as much rage as he could to channel Excalibur. He remembered pain, something burning and a wretched, rotten smell reaching his nose. And he remembered throwing up, probably, or that could just be what he felt like doing at the memory… But after that it all went black._

Caspar shook his head. “I don’t really know. Dorothea got to you and the Professor took care of the Beasts… I think Thea’s healing protected your squishy organs and stuff, but you were still in really bad shape when we brought you back.” He gulped thickly, adam’s apple bobbing as he did so. “I thought I’d gotten you killed, Lin.”

Linhardt went quiet, processing all of this information and searching for the appropriate response. He felt disgusting, tired and bloated and clearly in bad physical shape, but he knew that he would live. He was in fact more concerned about the substantial guilt Caspar was struggling with; seeing him in so much pain over Linhardt almost made the mage sicker than his actual wound. He wanted happy Caspar back, the cheerful Caspar that was sometimes terribly annoying… but still his best friend. The Caspar he rushed to protect on the battlefield, and apparently, risked his very life for.

“Well, I’m not dead, that’s one thing…” Linhardt said slowly, willing Caspar to lift his eyes, and meet his own. “So, thank you all for that. Although, I could do without the aftereffects of this wound…” He looked down at the bed sheets that rest over his injured stomach. “But I’m also glad that you’re safe.”

Caspar’s breath hitched slightly as his gaze lifted. “I don’t want you to have to worry about me. Once you’re better, I’m going straight to the training grounds. I won’t come out until I can protect _both_ of us, okay?”

“Wait, Caspar…” Linhardt almost smiled, encouraged by the resurgence of his friend’s determined attitude. “Don’t hurt yourself. That wouldn’t do either of us any good.”

“But I gotta get tough so I can beat the crap out of anything that comes near you! Changing your bandages was super gross, it sucked and I don’t want to have to do it again…”

The mage blinked, caught off guard. His lips parted slightly before he continued. “You changed my bandages? What about Professor Manuela?” He was not expecting that information, and something warmed in his heart, disrupting the bubbles of nausea still trying to creep into his throat. Linhardt had rarely considered that when he needed to be, Caspar could be steady, gentle. He was actually one of the kindest people he had ever met, endearing and fun and…

Linhardt was staring.

“Manuela said that it would take a little bit to heal still, so you were gonna have to change them on your own once you were up and fully awake. And I know you don’t do well with that so… I learned how to do it for you so you wouldn’t have to.” Caspar’s cheeks flushed pink, obvious in contrast with his cyan blue hair and matching, shining eyes. A little part of Linhardt loved that blush.

“Oh… thank you, Caspar.” Accompanying his gratitude, Linhardt smiled slightly, tiredly. Then he realised something as he looked up at the boy beside him. “Wait, have you gotten any rest since I’ve been here?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve been sleeping on that bed,” The fighter gestured to the infirmary bed behind him, covers wrinkled from use. “And I’ve been eating and stuff, don’t worry! I was here freaking out about you. You can’t worry about me in return.”

“I can worry as much as I need to Caspar, you have to take care of yourself. I’ve finally quit trying to tell you to stay out of fights, but you can’t go fighting your own body now, okay?” Linhardt scolded and pulled Caspar closer by his hand, their fingers still intertwined.

The smaller boy got to his feet to follow the motion, knees bumping against the side of Linhardt’s bed, jostling the mattress, and he put a hand out to keep from falling on top of him. “I’m not trying to, Lin!” Caspar complained. “I’ve just been here with you, but I can handle it, okay?”

“If you push yourself too hard, you’ll make me upset. And then I won’t heal properly, and we’ll both be stuck here for much longer than we should be.” Linhardt stared up at him, deep blue eyes meeting their lively counterpart, and let out a deep sigh. “I think it’s time for a nap anyways.”

“You literally slept for a week, how are you still – hey, don’t move around so much!” Caspar threw his arms down, caging Linhardt’s hips so he’d stop scooting around on the bed. “What are you doing, you’re supposed to sit still!”

In response, Linhardt smirked just slightly. His eyebrow quirked in that knowing way, seeing right through him with the look that made Caspar blush every time. Now, since he had already been quite red, this blush burned his ears traitorously.

The glance disappeared in seconds as Linhardt stifled a yawn, readjusting himself despite Caspar’s efforts to keep him immobile. Usually, the smaller boy would easily be able to restrain him with his superior strength, but right now he was trying so hard to be gentle with Linhardt that the mage almost felt bad for resisting. But he had finally gotten to the other half of the bed, and pulled back the covers on the side that Caspar was sitting on. The fighter’s eyes widened in embarrassed understanding.

“You look like you could use a nap, Caspar. Come on, if you’re so worried about keeping me safe, just lie down and let your strong arms protect me.” He rolled his eyes. Although rarely intending to, Linhardt loved to tease at times. It was fun, and Caspar always gave the perfect shy or frustrated reactions.

“A-are you sure?” He stammered, glancing between Linhardt and the bed unsurely. “What if I like – punch you in my sleep or something?”

“Then I’ll push you out, no need to fret so much. Clearly, I’m a heavy sleeper.” One slender hand patted the space on the pristine white sheets beside him. “Come on, Caspar. I won’t ask again.”

“I… Okay, okay. I’m coming.” Caspar sighed in defeat, kicking off his shoes and clumsily sliding into the space next to the mage. He brushed aside some of Linhardt’s long, olive-green hair that was dangerously close to getting yanked while they shifted, but soon Caspar’s arms were wrapped securely around the taller boy’s torso.

A smile still played at Linhardt’s lips as he exhaled calmly. He lifted a hand only to rest it in surprisingly soft blue locks of hair, and hold Caspar’s head close to his chest. The fighter was still blushing absurdly, but soon enough, he became soothed by the sure, rhythmic beating of the mage’s heart. It was steady, which meant he was alive. He was healing, and both of them were safe and sound.

“I’m… really glad you’re okay.” Caspar mumbled, the pulls of sleep catching up with him after long nights of anxiously staring at Linhardt’s injured form. “And thanks for coming to help me… Even though it got you hurt, we’re both fine now.”

“And we always will be. I won’t let anything more happen to you, Caspar. And therefore, nothing will happen to me.” Linhardt closed his eyes, finding comfort in the repose and quiet of the infirmary. “Now, follow the rules. I’ve told you before, no talking during naptime.”

“Right, yeah, sorry…” Caspar whispered sheepishly in response, holding Linhardt a little closer. It didn’t take long for him to doze off, his breaths deep and stable.

Linhardt allowed himself to stay awake for just a little longer, taking a moment to appreciate the feeling of having someone beside him. Of having _Caspar_ beside him. Caspar, who protected him and fought for him and took care of him, was now getting some well-deserved rest by his side. Linhardt could think of no greater gift of thanks to give to the sweet fighter that held him in his arms; and in turn, could think of no greater gift for himself than the pleasure of resting together.

Fighting was sometimes the only way to ensure survival, even if one got hurt along the way. Survival, by extent, led to peace, however brief or prolonged it may be. And peace led to tranquil moments like this, drifting off in each other’s arms with the reassurance that they would stay together, wake together, and nap together once again. It was a cycle Linhardt intended to repeat for a long, long time to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP all of the other patients in the Infirmary this entire time. JK, haha <3  
> Again, thanks so much for reading! I am still taking requests; also, I apologise for slow updates!  
> For those of you who haven't checked out my other fics, do it! There is Gatekeeper Appreciation content WAITING FOR YOUR EYES!!!  
> Anyways, thank you for reading! I hope this is helping your quarantine trauma at least a little. Hang in there babies, I love you guys!  
> Let's use this chapter to get to 1000 hits!! Please?


	8. Sylvain X Felix: Felix's Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix falls ill with a fever after training in the rain, and awakes to find Sylvain at his bedside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Sorry for the short chapter, I wrote it in a rush. But here it is!! Have some more Sylvix!  
> Requested by @localcryptkeeper !!!

He was hot when he woke up, which was wrong since Felix’s room always seemed to be so damn cold. The first thing Felix felt was the stale sweat on his skin, then the sensation of the bedsheets damp beneath him. Immediately afterwards, he acknowledged the aching feeling of his eyes not responding when he tried to open them. His hair was splayed about, feeling greasy and thin.

In short, he felt revolting.

After another, more patient attempt to open his eyes, the light from the open window practically blinded him. Felix lifted a hand – why was his arm so sore? – and palmed his forehead, rubbing his swollen eyelids as he looked about. The window was definitely not the source of the heat, since a gentle breeze drifted through and rustled the curtains.

Sitting up to pinpoint the change in his surroundings, a rushing swept in to fill Felix’s ears as the room tilted dangerously to the left. He clung to the bedsheets and the mattress as if he would fall along with the swaying room, and eased himself back into repose. Eyes wide and breathing a little shallower than his frantic heart would desire, Felix tried to calm himself.

 _He wasn’t scared or anything, so why was his body reacting so ridiculously?_ It was maddening, not being able to control this sickening feeling.

It was only as he attempted deep, recuperating breaths did he notice the slumped form huddled at his bedside. The shock of mussy, red hair was unmistakeable, but what surprised Felix more than Sylvain’s presence was the complexity of the position he was tangled in, and how the idiot managed to be asleep despite it.

Sylvain was sideways, sitting criss-cross, but his legs were up against the arm of the chair. Back painfully curled forward in order to fit his tall frame into the seat, his head was down in his crossed arms in a way that pledged pain for the rest of the day to come. The redhead snored softly, looking haggard despite resting, and Felix wondered what on earth he was doing in _his_ room.

Trying to piece this all together was becoming such a chore. He reached an arm out to the chair, giving Sylvain’s shoulder a shove that he assumed was gentle in his weakened state, but still rocked the lancer’s entire body. One right shoulder jerked forward, and Sylvain was awake with a shout as he twisted out of the chair and hit the floor with an unflattering _thud_. Felix winced, not at the jolted injury inflicted to his friend, but the dull pain that resonated in his skull after the noise.

“Wake up, idiot,” Felix intended to bark, but his voice was raspy and unused. He coughed twice in an attempt to revive it, brushing his filthy hair back from his face as he tried his hand at sitting up again. Slowly and steadily, he propped himself up on his elbows.

“Ow – for the Goddess’ sake, Felix!” Sylvain groaned, almost a whine, and laid on the floor in a helpless heap of limbs. He muttered something about how everything was sore and hurt more than a happy tapioca, and pushed himself to an upright position. “A gentle nudge would have done the trick. I’ve been fussing over you for two days now.”

“That _was_ a gentle nudge, you’re just soft.” Felix rolled his eyes, attempting to fix the pillows behind him more comfortably when he froze. His thin brows drew together in a knitted line and those acute copper eyes narrowed up at the man before him, who had since gotten to his feet. “What the _hell_ do you mean, _two days_?”

Sylvain’s puzzled, slightly irked expression relaxed as a smile split his face. He chuckled warmly and put a hand to his head. “You weren’t really _that_ gone, were you? _Felix_ ,” He said his name on a doting note, like a mother fawning over her child’s misunderstanding. Felix practically gnashed his teeth at the ditzy redhead, and Sylvain put his hands up in defence as he continued. “You need to be more careful. I get it though, you didn’t know this was gonna happen.”

“ _What_ happened, Sylvain?” Felix pounded his pillow into place with a clenched fist, feeling as though the motion was being reciprocated behind his eyes as a splitting headache took root. “Tell me or I will _pulverize_ you. What did you do to me?”

More raucous laughter bubbled from Sylvain’s chest, bouncing off the close walls of his dorm room, and if the sound weren’t so atrociously loud, a small part of Felix would have softened. That laugh, as irritating as it was, could brighten anyone’s day. But now, it caused pain to pulse behind his eyes and honestly concerned him. Felix shot another icy glare at the lancer and hoped that the message got across, before he turned on his side to search the nightstand for the glass of water always stationed there.

Instead, he saw a bowl with a few white cloths folded neatly beside it, along with some neatly rowed medicinal vials. His water glass was still there, regardless, although half empty. Felix reached for it, and took a few tiny, grateful sips. At least this would keep his throat from feeling like splitting every time he spoke, so that much was better. He could comfortably berate that stupid smirk off of Sylvain’s face now.

“Aw come on Fe, don’t be like that.” The bed sank a little as Sylvain sat on the end by Felix’s feet. The grumpy swordsman contemplated kicking him there, but decided to wait so he could add a prepared insult to the injury. “The only thing I _did_ to you was care for you and nurse you back to health in the comfort of your own room.”

“What happened to me, though?” Felix held his cup with both hands, taking another sip in a manner that was too tired to be cool. On the contrary, it was quite adorable.

Sylvain ran a hand through his hair and pretended to struggle with the recollection. “Let’s see… What _did_ happen? I don’t know if I-” Felix kicked him lightly from under the sheets and earned another laugh. “Alright, alright. Two days ago, I tried to get you to leave the training grounds because it was going to storm. You refused, and then the rain came pouring down. At dinner I found you up there soaked to the bone and shaking like a leaf. When I finally got you to come back inside, you passed out.”

“I passed out? From rain?” Felix _tch_ ed at himself scornfully. “Pathetic. How did that lead me here, in my own room with a moron for a nurse?”

“Well, that night you broke down with a fever. You had everyone on edge when Manuela couldn’t wake you up, no matter _what_ she tried.” Sylvain smirked at that, and Felix did not like the way it settled on his face in lieu of what they were discussing.

“But I’m awake now. So, you can go.” Felix finished the last of his water and pulled back the covers. “I needed to get that training in, and I don’t regret my decision.” Defiantly grumbling this out, Felix shoved himself to his feet and instantly regretted _that_ decision in its place. His vision went all but completely dark and the floor and walls switched for a moment.

Before he could sit back down or collapse, a strong pair of arms wrapped securely around him. It was only then, swathed in Sylvain’s embrace, did Felix realise how pleasant and cosy he smelled. Or maybe, that was just himself remaining unwashed and feverish. Sylvain seemed to take no mind and eased him back onto the bed, brushing his hair back from his face.

Crouching in front of him, that fiery red hair was the colour that brought Felix back to reality. Sylvain’s hazel eyes stared up with genuine concern and underlying amusement, warm and handsome and bright. His hands had slipped down to take Felix’s in his own, and for once, the swordsman did not protest. His head was swimming, and clinging to Sylvain a little tighter than he should was the only thing doing the trick to keep him focused.

“You worked yourself too hard, and now you’ve missed _two_ days of training, Felix.” Sylvain rubbed the backs of his hands with his thumbs, one calloused and one soft from his standard grip on a lance. “Doctor Sylvain is prescribing you to more bedrest, okay?”

“Gross, don’t give yourself a medical title in front of me,” Felix growled, but there was not much heat in his tone. Sylvain was right; his frustrated training had led him to miss more opportunities to improve, and had no doubt set him behind. Felix’s sour attitude was more concentrated on himself than on the situation. Or Sylvain, for that matter.

“Well, while I may not be the smartest guy out there, it’s fair to say as of right now that I’m more qualified than you in terms of taking care of yourself. So, rest, Fe.” Sylvain spoke playfully, but his gaze was hard, commanding. Felix knew when he was being given orders; whether he followed them or not was his own decision. But… this time, it _was_ for his own good.

And it really seemed like Sylvain cared. So, of course, it was hard to fight against that. As much as he wanted to.

“Fine,” He conceded. “Can we at least change the sheets? I feel disgusting.”

“Of course, if you can stand without toppling over, I’ll get that done for you right away.” Sylvain’s beam was back in place as he gently got Felix to his feet and began to change the linens. A spare set was at the ready at the foot of the bed, and Felix despised the warm flutter in his chest as realising how attentive Sylvain had really been.

With the bed freshly changed, Felix nestled back under the covers contentedly, already feeling leagues better than he had upon waking. But _feeling better_ came with a new wave of exhaust, and he turned on his side to get comfortable against the pillow. His eyes met Sylvain’s, looking up to do so.

“If I really missed that much, you should train in my stead,” A small, mirthful smirk twitched on his lips. “I can sleep on my own. And if I wake, I’ll take care of myself.”

Sylvain rocked back on his heels, apprehensive. He bit the inside of his cheek. “But if you need something, you’ll have to ask Dimitri.”

Felix’s eyes widened only slightly, and he scowled in compensation. “No. I’d go into a coma out of spite before asking the Boar to nurse me.”

“No, Felix don’t do that!” Sylvain couldn’t keep the laughter from his voice. This entire time, he had been in such a good mood over Felix’s recovery. It was endearing, to say the least, but annoying at how he coddled him. Well… not particularly _annoying_. The feeling was just a little foreign. Felix didn’t approve of himself enjoying the treatment, even just a little.

Before he could protest further, Sylvain’s hand came to rest on Felix’s forehead. “Your fever must have broken in the night. That’s good, at least.” And to the swordsman’s dismay, he sat heavily once again in the chair by his side. “I’m going to stay though, just in case. You’re prone to underreport when you’re not feeling right.”

“Because I’m actually _fine_ ,” Felix rolled his eyes, and blinked slowly. Sleep was beginning to pull at him, but he didn’t want to fade just yet. “Thanks to you, I mean… You actually did something without screwing up…” His words came just a little slurred, and Sylvain’s smile broadened unambiguously.

The smile remained soft though, and it was actually oddly comforting. “Thanks, I did my best. Now, you’re exhausted, Fe. Don’t get up until you’re ready to kick my ass for telling everyone how cute you are when you’re sleepy.” Felix felt an involuntary smile tug at his lips in response, despite wanting to punch him instead.

Or maybe he didn’t. He saw a blush on Sylvain’s cheeks, admiring Felix’s soft nature as he drifted in and out of slumber. And maybe, just maybe, he felt a blush rising to his own face.

_No, that was definitely the remnants of the broken fever, for sure. They could come back, yes?_

_Regardless, Sylvain would have to stay and take care of him, so why not stay under the weather a little while longer_?

Sylvain must have been very gentle not to wake him. And as he held Felix’s hand while he drifted off to sleep for good that time, he stayed gentle. The humming of a quiet tune accompanied the rhythmic, steady stroking his thumb over the back of his hand.

_And had he gently lifted Felix’s hand to place a soft, burning kiss to his knuckles?_

Maybe he had, maybe not. But it was most definitely the fever. Felix didn’t complain, instead letting the appealing lulls of sleep take him, but he would never admit the truth once he woke; maybe training a little harder during the next rainstorm to make up for lost time wouldn’t hurt too much, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for writing so much Sylvix by the way, it just kindof... happens.  
> I love them both, and while not all of my chapters between them are super lovey-dovey, I love their dynamic and their bond and just writing for them anyways. So, HAVE THEM!!!  
> If you like my Sylvix work and HAVEN'T checked out "More Than A Childhood Promise" and "Lance and Shield: From Childhood to Rain" then shame on you! Those are good stuffs I put lots of Sylvix feels and effort into!  
> I love you guys either way though.  
> Keep the requests coming!!


	9. Ferdinand X Hubert: The Courtyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand seeks clarity in a walk through the monastery. Hubert finds him, and reminds him that it is far past the hour of curfew.

The night was chillier than Ferdinand had anticipated; he was partially grateful for the thin white gloves he wore, and partially cursed them for being ineffective at a time like this. They weren’t meant for warmth, he understood, but it would still be helpful if they did _something_ aside from keeping dirt away and going nicely with his fashionable ascot. Fashion was nice, but practicality never hurt, did it?

Distantly, bells chimed to signify a late hour, of which Ferdinand did not pay much attention to. His only acknowledgment of the sound was that it accused him of being out past the curfew. Ordinarily, he would not take action such as this, against the rules of the Monastery, but he had been desperate to escape the confines of his room. The stifling atmosphere in that dorm after he had read the lengthy letter from his father… it was beyond a place he could relax in. And this was not the first time Ferdinand had taken advantage of the lovely grounds at night to clear his thoughts.

He had crept past the greenhouse, the doors securely locked, and waited by the pond. The moonlight reflected off its surface in a picturesque fashion, ripples shining silver in a way plucked straight from a fairy tale. Sometimes Ferdinand would come to this spot, lulled by the quiet lapping of the water against the stone, splashing as it rose against the supports of the dock. Often, he would be able to return to the dorms within moments.

That was not the case tonight. Ferdinand was reluctant to return to that room, with the political letters and the marriage proposals and the very many busy things he should be doing, but didn’t want to be tasked with. As much as he boasted about noble lineage, about his future as the Prime Minister, about his responsibilities… Ferdinand was still only a student. He wanted to take on the workload for himself, to feel motivated and satisfied for his own achievements, not have it forced on him.

And part of that included learning who he was. Ferdinand was growing into his own here at the Academy, finding confidence that extended beyond status and beginning to enjoy his time, regardless of who he was with. It was a bit scary, the newness of it all, but he took the challenge head-on and faced it with a smile every day. That was how he had gotten through in the past, and planned to get through the present.

Although, it did not help that his father seemed to feel the need to _remind_ him of his noble duties, as if it hadn’t been ingrained into Ferdinand’s mind every moment he remained at home. The reiterations were a pursuit Ferdinand did not appreciate, because he _clearly_ understood the importance and that responsibility as a noble, even moreso than his father. And passing down the family Crest was far from the only goal he wished to ascertain, as he had recounted many times to the man. He had ambitions that took more of his focus, so it would be kind of him to give his son some space…

And… Ferdinand had taken great care to censor his letters back to his father, to speak lightly and equally of all of his allies, accentuating no favouritism whatsoever. As he stared into the clear water of the pond, he reeled through his memory to see if there was any chance that he had mentioned anything suspicious, any insight regarding anyone here at the Academy, especially one helplessly infuriating dark mage who often found his place in letters back home.

Finding no solace in the pond as he usually did, Ferdinand sighed deeply and turned back to proceed further into the Monastery grounds. Making the wise decision to stay off the main paths, he turned into the courtyard with the intention of finding a quiet space to sit, think whilst undisturbed, and hopefully return to his room to catch some sleep before the tasks of the coming day. The leaves of the hedges rustled soothingly as he walked past, his footsteps seeming to echo off of the great stone walls beside him.

“Lovely night to break curfew, is it not, Ferdinand?” A low voice susurrated from just over his shoulder, immediately turning his blood cold and sending adrenaline shooting through his body.

Ferdinand could not swallow the startled scream that slipped out, if only for a moment, as he whipped around and threw a forceful punch in the direction of the addressor. His fist met something solid in the darkness, earning a grunt and a familiar voice hissing an expletive.

Ferdinand kept his fists up as he took a few careful steps back before lowering them, his panic subsiding as his heart continued to thud wildly in his chest. “Hubert!? What in the – for fuck’s – for _what_ _purpose_ did you do that!?”

Hubert’s tall, lanky form unfolded as a shadow when he stood upright, his exposed eye piercing gold in the moonlight. It was hard to make out his form, and Ferdinand willed himself to calm down to focus on his terrifying peer. Soon, the shapes became recognisable, and he hesitated before letting his arms relax at his sides, adjusting his jacket properly.

A smug smile was the next thing Ferdinand recognised on Hubert’s face through the darkness, appearing before he spoke coolly, “Language, Ferdinand. I simply asked you a question.” His leer turned taunting, in the shadows looking much like the serpent Ferdinand had so often compared him to. “There is no need to act so pathetic, even though I know you cannot help it.”

Tossing his bright ginger hair and straightening his ascot, Ferdinand squared his shoulders. “I am _not_ acting pathetic. It is natural to be startled when someone sneaks up behind you in the dead of night. In fact, I would be impressed with my reflexes, if I were you. You’re lucky I held back.” It took effort to keep the waver out of his voice, but merely channelling it into irritation was the easier option anyways.

“What I’m more impressed with is how unaware you are of your surroundings.” Hubert shook his head with disappointment, although Ferdinand understood every gesture was meant only to rile him up further. “You really must be a pampered brat if your basic senses are _that_ dulled.”

Feeling his blood boil nonetheless, Ferdinand tried to keep his temper down. “I was distracted, yes.” The last thing he needed was Hubert’s pestilent attitude slashing open the very grievance he had been so desperately trying to bury moments before. Yet, he could not keep the words from tumbling out, if as a justification rather than a legitimate complaint. “My father has been contacting me over some very vital political matters, as a test, and I want to do well for him.” Crossing his arms and shooting his meanest glare _sometimes_ worked with Hubert, so Ferdinand took no hesitation in employing that tactic now.

“I was not aware that marriage proposals were ‘tests’ of ‘vital political matters’,” Hubert derided, stepping closer. His height was definitely an advantage against Ferdinand’s scattered nerves, obscuring the moon and leaving him almost entirely in shadow. Hubert’s voice lowered as he continued, like the wind ghosting through the flora in the courtyard. “In that case, you have no one but yourself to blame for that undignified scream.”

Despite the fierce rate of his heartbeat and his rising anger, Ferdinand felt heat flush to his cheeks. He was too tired, too _done_ with the day to fight as adamantly as he would often like to; and there were several scrapped drafts of letters concerning the very man before him, addressed to the Aegir household that they would never reach. He retreated from Hubert, only for his back to meet the stone wall behind him, the chill cutting through his uniform unpleasantly. “You won’t tell anyone about that, Hubert. Surely, you aren’t that low.”

Hubert leaned in, placing a gloved hand on the wall near Ferdinand’s head. Ferdinand’s eyes widened in discomfort as he tried to shift away. His efforts only made Hubert’s smile all the more sardonic, hic mocking tone mirroring the intent. “ _Why of course,_ you using uncouth language and throwing a _laughable_ punch is a much more interesting story, anyway.”

Ferdinand blushed fully, annoyed at how close Hubert was getting and this persisting thought that if he looked at his lips, he would know exactly how to kiss him, and all of this culminated in the rush of energy that lashed out. Ferdinand had learned that landing a punch on Hubert was easy, especially at this distance, and that was exactly the course of action he took.

With a decisive, “My punch was not _laughable!_ ”, Ferdinand’s fist struck Hubert with a satisfying _thud_. The dark mage staggered back only a few steps, one gloved hand going to the targeted area as he hissed in revulsion. Ferdinand scoffed, more at himself for allowing Hubert to vex him so deeply, but a twinge of guilt still made itself known in his chest.

Straightening after his quick recovery, Hubert coughed briefly before inhaling sharply to fuel another scornful sneer, although something about the look in his eyes made the gesture oddly faux. “My, my, these little outbursts of yours aren’t very _noble_ , are they?” He once again took confident strides forward, gripping the wrist of the hand that punched him and pinning it in a vice low on the wall. “I expect nothing less from you, Ferdinand.”

Ferdinand had long given up on fighting the heat that rose to his cheeks. “Hubert, let go of me.” He twisted his wrist this way and that in an attempt to free it, keeping his eyes off of those striking gold ones so close to his face, looking away from those thin lips that he imagined would be so soft… Ferdinand quickly shook his head in protest of his own thoughts. “If you’re so adamant about holding the break of curfew against me, then it would be wise for us to return to the dorms.”

“I’ve only mentioned it once before, Ferdinand. Do not pretend to care about the rules now that you’ve already broken them…” Something shifted in his eyes as he said these words, and it wrestled itself into a dark place in Ferdinand’s mind. He shivered.

Ferdinand hated Hubert, at least he really tried to. He hated that being so close to him, hearing him speak, regardless of the context, sent thrilling jolts of heat down his spine, caught his breath and made him consider changing everything he’d built for himself.

He _wanted_ to break the rules for Hubert. He wanted to write home and declare his decision, to defy his father’s faulty sense of nobility… He was so, _so_ tired of all this. Ferdinand ceased his struggles, looking aside. “Neither of us will be able to blame the situation on each other if we get caught like this, Hubert.”

A laugh began on Hubert’s lips, but died off in a whisper. When he spoke next, his voice was soft, almost strikingly tender. “Ferdinand, you really are so naïve.” The addressed took in a sharp breath when a gloved hand met his cheek. “Your childish excuses change nothing, you know that, don’t you? Saying that you hate me, that your nobility is your priority…”

“E-excuses for what…?” Ferdinand stammered out quietly, his tone hushed. He turned his face away from Hubert’s hand. “My nobility _is_ my priority. I want to… change what my father got wrong.”

Hubert turned Ferdinand’s face back to meet his gaze, his touch stiff but gentle. “Excuses for your blatant disregard of the rules, no matter who sets them.” He seemed to hesitate, complications dancing behind those striking gold eyes, as he stroked a gentle circle on Ferdinand’s cheek with his thumb. “Despite the fact that you shamelessly tout yourself as the perfect little noble, you still intend to go against the wishes of those above you… And I… will be the first to admit that I disregard the rules as well, when it comes to getting what I want.”

 _Want?_ At his words, heat rushed to Ferdinand’s face, making him dizzy. “I-I _am_ a proper… I am a _noble_ , regardless of how you berate me. I am honest and pursue honest ambitions.” He cleared his throat, unprepared to confess outright. But when Hubert looked at him that way, when he stood so close, and when the air in the courtyard stood still, he felt understood. He felt _it_ reciprocated. “I truly do not see what straws you are grasping at.”

“But you do. You just do not want to admit that I’m right,” Hubert spoke accusatorily, but indecision flickered across his features, barely visible in the shadows. It was as if he was boasting his cert, hoping the confidence would prove him right irrespective of the truth. “You want not to admit that you do not truly despise me, as much as I do not despise you. That you… value me as much as I do you.”

His lips were too close.

Ferdinand gave in.

Hubert kissed chastely; Ferdinand did not. It was messy and awkward and Hubert tasted bitter, but Ferdinand had given in. His mind reeled through every letter, every note he had ever addressed to Hubert, every message that had never made it to his father. Sleepless nights were whisked away in all but an instant between their shared breath, Ferdinand’s heart thudding frantically, his head spinning and his skin burning. He wrenched his wrist free to hold onto the fabric of Hubert’s uniform, grounding himself in this moment of blissful reality, however unreal it felt.

Hubert pulled away too soon, and Ferdinand whined as a thumb was placed gently over his lower lip. Blush present on the dark mage’s high cheekbones, Ferdinand could not fight the swelling sense of smug pride he felt at seeing it. “So, you _can_ be quiet?” Hubert jeered through his breathlessness. “There is no need to worry of being caught, now…”

“Oh, shut up or we _will_ be caught,” Ferdinand rolled his eyes, but lost the battle against the grin that fought to present itself on his face. “As if you’re any less insufferable than you say I am…”

“I must not be that awful, considering you kissed me first.” Hubert’s smirk was back in place in an instant, and part of Ferdinand wanted to smear it away with sarcasm, and the other part wanted to shamelessly kiss him again. Either method would work.

“You got too close, I merely finished what you started,” Ferdinand scoffed with another roll of his lovely, warm eyes. “Awfulness was not a factor. Although…” A begrudging sigh slipped past his lips as he put a hand on the back of Hubert’s neck, pulling him down for another kiss. “You aren’t as terrible as you paint yourself to be. Do not give yourself credit where it isn’t due.”

The dark mage complied, subdued by the desire to capture the noble’s lips once again, to be joined in this shared longing for as long as they could muster. Ferdinand held onto him in a mirror image of his desperation, clinging to him with a smile on his face that chased away the shadows of doubt and fear. Where Hubert was the silent gloom of the night in which they stood, Ferdinand was the sunshine he craved to capture and hold on to until the arrival of the truthful morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> Thank you so much for sticking with this oneshot book so far... We're almost to ten chapters, isn't that crazy??  
> I think I might carry it to 25, but I'm honestly not sure...  
> Anyways, have some Ferdibert!! I have a hard time writing for some pairs, and this is one of them, no matter how much I love the ship. It just vibes different, but I love it all the same!  
> Anyhoo, hope you all are staying safe and staying clean!  
> Wash your hands and take care of each other. <3


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